Warcraft: Denial
by Hawki
Summary: Ruled by the Illidari, Outland is no place for a high elf who refuses to accept the ways of the sin'dorei. Unfortunatly, returning to Azeroth will prove no simple matter, for those who wield demonic magic are never easily denied...
1. War of the Words

_I'm sure that every Warcraft fan is aware of the ideological differences between night elves and blood elves, and why they hate each other for it. The high elves however, form an interesting niche between the two. Wielders of arcane magic with a dark history, yet have a certain nobility that blood elves lack._

_It's been stated that blood elves occasionally 'recruit' high elves to join their ranks, the latter doing so either willingly or unwillingly. This is a portrayal of one such recruitment, with ideological differences expressed. A night elf vs. blood elf scenario would be predictable. A high elf and blood elf though…_

_Note that I don't own WOW or BC, so there may be a few discrepancies. And yes, much of this is based on 'Brave New World.' I found that its themes fitted in with the ideological differences quite well._

Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Warcraft and all its characters.

**XXXX**

**Denial**

**Chapter 1: War of the Words**

There was a saying that the patience of elves was like that of a glacier-it wore away slowly, almost unnoticeably, yet if expired, would come crashing down with the force of a mountain. Down in the depths of Tempest Keep, probably a dungeon, Shahra Dreamsinger couldn't help but marvel at the irony of such a statement, not only in regards to her current situation, but also in regards to that of her race. The glacier of her patience (and sanity for that matter) was wearing away faster than one would expect, yet the crashing down of it would do no damage to anyone apart from herself. Yet another high elf, a Quel'dorei, had sunk lower. Neither term could honestly be applied in the current circumstances.

Time was not so much a factor on Draenor, or Outland as it was more commonly known, as there was no real passing of day or night to mark it, at least as far as Shahra could see. Its sky remained the same ruddy orange as it had been when she first entered through the Dark Portal. If there was indeed a cycle of day and night she hadn't remained conscious long enough to see it. How could she have been, when from almost the very moment she'd entered the blasted world, she'd been beset by fel orcs, demons and "tainted kin?"

Curiosity was something that humans, with their short life spans, usually embraced but in this new age of discovery, it wasn't uncommon for members of other races to answer the call as well. Shahra had been one of them, although it had been at a personal level; high elves didn't have any leaders to order them what to do, they could follow their own path.

"_And where has such a path led me?" _Shahra thought bitterly to herself. _"To a blasted land of demons, traitors and no doubt other beings that I'll probably never get to see."_ A few days ago, she might have considered the last part of that reflection a bad thing. However, first impressions had left their mark and any interest that Shahra once had for this land had evaporated and all she wanted to do now was to go home. Of course, 'home' was a word that had rarely featured in high elven vocabulary since the fall of Quel'thalas but "home" was still something that you could make for yourself. Theramore and Stormwind remained appealing options.

Shahra shook off such wistfulness and returned to meditation, or at least attempted to. Tempest Keep seemed to be infused with demonic energy (no doubt due to whatever hell spawned magic her tainted brethren wielded) and to meditate to stem her race's addiction to magic in the presence of such a nexus was neigh impossible. It was even more so when the door to her cell opened.

For Shahra, this was a first. She couldn't remember exactly how long she'd been in here but knew that in that time, the door had never opened more than half a metre, with some blood red hand, probably that of a fel orc, placing a glass of stagnant water (a compound that seemed out of place in this hell hole) and a plate of unrecognisable, almost inedible food.

Seeing her 'visitor', Shahra immediately began to wish that it had stayed that way, for she was viewing that which the blood red hand had been joined to-a fel orc, namely one wielding a double handed battleaxe of equal grotesqueness. Shahra saw what looked like dried blood on its body, but it was hard to make out, given its pigmentation. _"Almost makes the violet hue of the night elves appealing," _she thought.

"Up," it grunted in a horrible corruption of Thalassian, seemingly exerting great restraint not to carve out her innards with that axe of his. "The master wants to see you."

"_Wow, such a beast is capable of speech more intricate than grunts and bellows," _Shahra thought to herself. Her faintly glowing blue eyes stared into the fiery red ones of the orc;

"Sorry, but you didn't make yourself clear," Shahra said calmly. "Was that a request or an order?"

"Take a look at my axe, donkey ears, and figure it out for yourself!" the orc bellowed, wanting to use said axe more than ever.

Part of Shahra wanted to continue chiding the orc but the rational part of her brain reminded her that such a course of action was tantamount to suicide. Despite how grim circumstances had been in recent times, Shahra hadn't lost all sense of self preservation.

"Very well, I'm coming," she said, slowly rising to her feet. Trying to ignore the fetid stink that the orc emitted (and failing for the most part), Shahra stepped outside into the stone hallway. "Dark" was the first adjective that came to the elf's mind, perhaps since that same word was often used to describe the future prospects high elven race.

"Move," grunted the orc, his tone of voice not making it necessary for him to utter "or else."

Shahra attempted to do so but found that she couldn't obey the orc's demand; not out of defiance, but simply out of pure inability to do so-the tunnel reeked of demonic magic, something that was a complete anathema to everything that Shahra and the Quel'dorei believed in.

"I…I can't," she whimpered. "It's…it's just so dark…"

"Get moving whelp, or you'll find yourself in the darkness of the Nether!" shouted the orc, pushing her forward. The death threat wasn't lost on the elf as she marched forward, her 'donkey ears' burning with shame.

**XXXX**

The tunnel didn't exactly have light at the end of it, but it was mercifully shorter than Shahra had expected. Interestingly enough, despite passing many cells, all of them seemed to be empty. Shahra was hardly going to ask the orc as to why this was the case, but the question still nagged her. Did Tempest Keep simply not receive many prisoners? Did such prisoners face execution? Were they, by some strange streak of mercy which was in stark contrast to what this land represented, set free?

Still, Shahra knew that she was probably the first high elf that had set foot inside its walls (and hopefully the last) and could therefore be subject to special treatment, good or ill. Regardless, Shahra didn't have time to dwell on the question as she and her captor arrived at a wooden door that was presumably the entrance to their destination, given that it swung open of its own accord as they approached.

Shahra's reaction to its interior was decidedly neutral. On the one hand, it was clearly not another cell, torture chamber or something equally nefarious (or more so, she wouldn't have been surprised). On the other, given that a single wooden desk was present with a chair on each side of it, the room looked like one used for interrogation, especially since the room wasn't completely unoccupied. A male Sin'dorei, probably a mage given his dark cloak and the three green orbs floating around his head, was also present, although his back was turned to them.

"Hail master!" bellowed the orc, hefting his axe over his shoulder. "I have brought the traitorous one."

"_I'm in the midst of demon consorting elves and they label me as a traitor!?" _Shahra thought bitterly.

"You may leave Tartarus," murmured the elf passively.

"What?" The orc was clearly surprised. "But I thought-…"

"That was an order, redskin. Leave before your stench begins to affect me."

The orc, apparently named Tartarus, shot a venomous glare to the blood elf present and one of equal hatred to Shahra. With much restraint however, he managed to turn around and slam the door shut, much to Shahra's relief.

"Leadership is never easy you know," said the blood elf, his back still turned to Shahra. "Sometimes I wonder if the fel orcs are more trouble than they're worth. Still, one can't consult their own preferences. The choice has been made and I'll abide by it."

"Is choice a luxury available to me?" Shahra whispered. While she'd been glad to see the orc go, being in the same room with a member of her tainted kin hardly struck her as a better set of circumstances.

"I'm afraid not," said the blood elf. He turned around, causing Shahra to stifle a scream. "Given your current set of circumstances, I'm sure you'll understand why."

Shahra did indeed understand. After all, how could choice be available to her when she was in the same room as Prince Kael'thas?

**XXXX**

Much against her wishes, Shahra found herself sitting on one side of a wooden desk, the prince of the Sin'dorei on the other. To the untrained eye, they might have appeared similar, apart from gender. Upon closer inspection however, one would soon appreciate the differences between those of the sun and those of the blood of their fallen.

Both had the blonde hair that was common in their race, but the style was different. Whereas Kael kept his long and sleek, Shahra had her's in a ponytail, a trend that she'd picked up in Stormwind. While the high elf wore a simple grey tunic, the blood elf wore armour the colour of his namesake, a black cloak to top it off. Most distinct though, were their eyes; while the eyes of the Quel'dorei glowed faintly with the colour of Azeroth's sky, the eyes of the Sin'dorei were of a bright acid green.

"So," said Kael eventually after what felt like an eternity of silence, even to an elf such as Shahra. "I understand that you don't think much of the civilisation that I've established on this world.

Shahra let out a loud snort; "Civilisation!? Is that what you call what's on this world of demons and orcs!?"

Kael chuckled; "Don't you think you're being a bit presumptuous? You'd only just stepped out of the dark portal before you were set upon. You've hardly had any time to savour what Outland has to offer."

"And I don't want to," remarked Shahra stubbornly. "And how would you know what I think of your domain anyway?"

"Your eyes," said Kael simply. "Not only are they relics of the past, but they hide nothing. Water is never a good cloak."

"And acid is?"

The prince shrugged; "I can hide and reveal what I want with them."

Silence once again returned to the room. Shahra would have preferred it to remain that way. However, she guessed that Kael was waiting for her to speak her mind. Deciding that she was not going to be intimidated by this treacherous prince, she was happy to do so;

"It's indeed an interesting transformation that you've carried out," said Shahra eventually. "For someone who grew up in the beauty of Silvermoon, Tempest Keep seems to be distinctly lacking in it."

"Of course it is," said Kael simply. "Why would we retain our beauty? It's something of the past."

Shahra was confused; "But isn't beauty a constant in the world? Isn't it something that all civilised races _(of course, whether the blood elves were actually civilised was a different_ _matter)_ have a liking for?"

"Not necessarily," said Kael. "At least not in our society. Beauty by definition is attractive, and was something our ancestors strove for. It's old, a thing of the past." He stared at Shahra with more intensity; "Our concern is in the present."

Shahra stared at him, although with astonishment rather than intensity; "Are you telling me that you're the head of a society of hedonists?"

"Hedonists?" Kael threw his head back and laughed; "Yes, I suppose that's the word you'd use to describe us." He drew back his gaze; "But is that so bad? You may be woefully ignorant of blood elven society on Draenor and back in Silvermoon, but I can assure you that our people are happy. Our beauty is that of pure sensation."

Shahra had to concede that was true; she'd encountered a few blood elves back on Azeroth (never under civil circumstances of course) and they certainly seemed happy enough being magic addicts. Still, Shahra would rather spend an hour of meditation each day to ward her thirst for magic than follow the path of the blood elves.

"So you've sacrificed beauty, namely art and literature for happiness?" asked the high elf. "Sounds rather horrible."

"Of course it does," said Kael simply. "Actual happiness is always squalid when compared to compensations for misery, art and literature being among them. Such things are relics of the past, of when our ancestors had to deal with barbarous trolls and savage humans."

Shahra was beginning to gain insight into Kael's motives, but was determined not to be swayed; "And your people here are happy? Happy enough that they don't require art or literature?"

"Why should they? The blood elves don't exist in denial like you high elves. We embrace our addiction, and enjoy its sensation. A society full of vices perhaps, but ultimately one of happiness. The green glow in Kael's eyes flickered; "A society that I intend to integrate you into."

The blue glow of Shahra's eyes flickered also, although the source in this case was alarm; "What!?" she exclaimed. "You think I'll become a Sin'dorei!? I'll die before I embark

upon the path you and the rest of your bastard kind have! I am-…"

"Overreacting," interrupted Kael. "One might think you were about to have your throat cut. If you had any sense however, you'd be able to see that I'm offering you a gift, namely that of an easier life. No more self denial about your arcane heritage. You ultimately have a choice between happiness and self denial." He stared at the high elf intensely; "For your own sake, I'd recommend the former."

Shahra was not to be swayed; "I am a Quel'dorei," she said, with deep conviction. "I am proud my heritage and will not see it sullied by the embracement of demonic magic."

Kael sighed and remained silent for a few moments; "It's curious," he said eventually; "why you high elves choose to live your lives in a state of denial of what you know to be true. I would have thought Silvermoon's fall would have knocked some sense into you."

"Pardon?" asked Shahra, clearly perplexed.

"I said that it's curious as to why you so called _Quel'dorei_ continue to deny truth. It was our obsession with truth and beauty that led to Silvermoon's fall to the Scourge. We were so obsessed with pursuing them that we failed to see how it had weakened us enough to fall victim to undeath." Kael laughed; "Seriously, what good are compensations for misery going to do you when death itself is reaching for your soul?" Kael continued to chuckle.

"So by embracing happiness and forgoing culture, you think you retained your souls from undeath?" Shahra asked sceptically. "Sounds like you lost them just like the ghosts of our fallen, just in a different way." Her gaze narrowed; "Of course, embracing demons may have also played a part in that."

Kael wasn't backing down; "If you truly believe that, then you've obviously learnt nothing from Silvermoon's fall. The Light let us down. The Light, with its intended virtues, was the ultimate compensation for misery and it still failed."

"Really?" asked Shahra. "Or was it due to those who wielded it? Those like yourself? Those like your _Blood Knights_." Her loathing of the order was evident.

"The Light doesn't change," said Kael stiffly.

"Creatures do though."

"Of course. We blood elves have undergone such a change."

"A change in the wrong direction though."

Both sets of eyes were now glowing brightly; "What would you truly prefer?" Kael hissed. "To enjoy life, or to suffer in self denial, or perhaps as one of those pathetic forsaken. Such dedication to truth, beauty and religion will never end well. It will only end in suffering."

"Perhaps," said Shahra. "But how can you be sure that you children of blood are not suffering equally, degraded by vices?"

"Providence takes its cue from life," said Kael simply. "We blood elves however, don't' provide such a cue."

"Are you sure?" asked Shahra. "Perhaps the Light has punished you, has accepted your cues and degraded you through happiness?"

"But degrade us from what position? From nomads in the service of the Alliance, commanded by a racist commander who cared nothing for our kind?" Kael's memories of Garithos were clearly still bitter; "We were held back then. But no more. We've achieved freedom in Outland."

Shahra shrugged; "Perhaps. But think about what you've lost in the process." She let out a small chuckle; "I suppose chastity is an alien concept to you."

"Of course it is," said Kael simply. "When happiness is pursued in its purest form, self denial is incompatible with it."

"I thought as much," said Shahra stiffly. "I suppose it's what truly distinguishes high elves from blood elves." She glared at Kael; "A difference that I, for one, am grateful for."

Both elves remained silent, their gazes locked in with each other. What was exchanged between them? Hate? Sympathy? Distrust? Regardless, Kael eventually spoke; "I suppose I'm wasting my time," he said eventually.

"Definitely," said Shahra. You can have what you call happiness. I however, want the worthwhile things of this world. I want chastity. I want poetry. I want art. I want self denial."

"And unhappiness, I take it?" asked Kael. Shahra remained silent for a few seconds. The hours of meditation, the racism from other members of the Alliance. Was it truly worth it? Shahra knew the answer;

"Yes," said the high elf eventually. "Unhappiness is something I'm willing to bear."

Kael shrugged; "You're welcome." Silence once again descended upon them.

"So…can I go back to Azeroth then?" asked Shahra timidly. Since Kael probably had no further use for her, perhaps he'd actually show some morality.

"I'm afraid not," said the prince, his eyes green with malice. Such words must have been taken as a cue, for it was at this point that the door opened and Tartarus walked in, axe at the ready. He leered at Shahra.

'But…why?" Shahra asked, tears beginning to form. She'd sampled the world that Kael could offer, and had no desire to join it. All she wanted to do was to go home. Why would he deny her?"

"The pursuit of happiness requires a degree of utilitarianism." Kael grinned slightly; "Although you deny yourself access to pure magic, your body is still infused with the substance. As such, you will make a good source of energy."

Shahra guessed what was coming; "Plan to siphon it our of me?"

"No, not yet at least." Kael stood and started walking out. "I'll let Tartarus have his fun with you first. It's only fair." Walking out, he closed the door, taking little heed of the screams that started to emanate from within. "Foolish high elf," he murmured.

"Such is the price of denial."

**XXXX**

_Although this started out as a oneshot, it suddenly occurred to me how I could make this into a fully fledged story. Whether it remains a oneshot or continues is ultimately up to you readers, although I may still decide against your wishes._

_Anyway, R&R if you so desire._


	2. Sample of Power

_Although support didn't really come my way for such a thing, I've decided to expand this fic, making a full storyline. So um…enjoy. Or not._

**XXXX**

Denial

Chapter 2: Sample of Power

Every bone in Shahra's body, at least half of them broken, was screaming at her, trying to convey two key facts; firstly that they were indeed broken, the fiery pain coursing through her body being testament to that, and secondly, that if she didn't do something in the near future, preferably in the next few minutes, the other half of her skeletal structure would be shattered as well, just as much as her sense of being.

Of course, given her current situation, Shahra knew that actually doing something to alter her situation was beyond her capabilities, much to her dismay. Although barely conscious, the elf was still aware of a few unpleasant facts; she was still in the cell in which she and Prince Kael'thas had their ideological discussion, his pet orc, apparently named Tartarus, was having his sadistic fun with her by pummelling her senseless, and that if she didn't do something to alter her circumstances, death was a very distinct possibility.

Shahra mentally shrugged; elves were frail creatures and orcs, especially those with demonic blood coursing through their veins, were exceptionally strong ones. Such a difference had ensured that it took mercifully little time for Shahra to reach that pleasant, albeit disturbing stage, where one knows that they're in pain, yet they barely feel it.

Of course, such a stage was usually due to said individual being close to death, like in Shahra's case, but the high elf didn't care. Since it was a given that the prince of her tainted kin wasn't going to release her, she'd simply waste away anyway. Outland, especially a fortress of the damned such as Tempest Keep, wasn't exactly the best place for meditating. If the orc's fists didn't kill her, magical addiction would. Although she felt ashamed to admit it, Shahra found herself hoping that it would be the latter.

"That will do Tartarus." Shahra raised an eyebrow, or at least would have done so if the area around her lower forehead, like most of her body, was too swollen from bruising to allow such a thing to occur. Her sensation of pain was not the only sense that had been diluted, for the elf's sight and hearing, even by human standards, were severely hindered. The elf couldn't make out who was talking, the voice sounding like it was coming through a long, dark tunnel.

Shahra somehow doubted that there was light at the end of it.

"Finished? But I've only just started!" Although the voice was just as vague, albeit a bit louder, Shahra could still tell that it was the orc making the protest. Logic wasn't something that his beatings had destroyed…yet.

"There's a high elf here in this cell, in _your _realm, and you want me to show mercy!?"

"I can understand your…discomfort, Tartarus." The first voice sounded again, although the distance of the tunnel it seemed to be travelling through had shortened. Footsteps could also be heard. "However, all good things must come to an end, as I'm sure you know. This," added the voice smugly; "is one of them."

The fel orc let out a growl; "I thought you said that you would-…"

"Thought is not a requisite of service, any more than understanding!" the first voice snapped back, evidently laced with contempt and arrogance for the redskin, along with those character traits in general. "While I intend to provide you with plenty of prisoners to butcher, this elf is not one of them."

"And why is that?" the orc growled. Despite being in the presence of what was obviously a superior, he was being surprisingly defiant and snide. Still, orcs tended only to respect strength, so in retrospect, it wasn't so surprising at all.

"A display of mercy for such a pitiful creature is out of place for you. I wonder why that's-…"

The orc was cut off suddenly by the new arrival grabbing his shoulder blade and drawing close, much to Shahra's disappointment. It would have been interesting to see where this was heading, but fate proved to be a bitch once again. While she was aware of the fact that Tartarus and whoever the new arrival was were engaging in silent conversation, not even her elven senses could pick up the gist of the words. Still, given her current physical condition, that hardly came as a surprise. One can find it to hear or see when a maddened beast has pummelled you senseless.

"Do you understand_now_, redskin?" The voice was laced with malice.

"I… suppose so," murmured Tartarus, lying through the skin of his tusks. What his master's methods and goals were…they made no sense. Surely butchering the pathetic quel'dorei that lay before them was a much simpler, not to mention more enjoyable, method of obtaining satisfaction, not to mention a supply of mana.

"Good enough," the figure shrugged. "Leave us."

Fuming at the fact that this was the second time he'd been ordered to do say in less than ten minutes, Tartarus obeyed. Casting one last dirty look at the elf that lay on the ground (not that she would be able to see it anyway, he'd done what his kind excelled at too well), he stormed out, slamming the wooden door shut that made even the walls of the cell shake.

Shahra was almost sorry to see him go. Although the orc was clearly genocidal like the bulk of his race (and even then Shahra had difficulty believing that those orcs led by some warchief in Kalimdor were truly different), he was easy to understand. Dealing with orcs was simple after all; they tried to kill you and would do so unless you returned the favour and succeeded where they failed. Although in Shahra's case it would probably…well, almost certainly result in the former, she was past caring. And after all, the orc was more communicative than most of his kind, actually able to speak Thalassian, albeit a version that basically butchered the language as much as its speaker butchered his foes.

This new arrival however, was not so easy to consider. Not only could Shahra not see him due to her blurry vision, but of what precious little she had heard, the high elf's situation hardly seemed much better than it had been with the orc.

"Anaria shola," said Shahra, hoping to at least sound like she was in the position to make such demands.

"You're in no position to make such demands, little elf," came the voice of Shahra's visitor, shooting down her original strategy. The same arrogant tone was still there and it was obvious that the stranger's ordering the orc to leave was in his own interests rather than Shahra's, the latter deciding that perhaps it was better to go about such circumstances with a bit more diplomacy.

"Why did you help me?" she asked, trying to fight the pain that was crawling back into her body. It was made even worse by the fact that her saviour (although such a term was dubious) had his hand at the back of her neck, slowly lifting up her head, as if he was about to give her food and/or water.

"I told you before, in a society of happiness, a degree of utilitarianism must exist."

Shahra's eyes, even with the bruises around them, opened wide, the light blue glow increasing in intensity as well; "Prince Kael'thas!?"

"Of course," replied the prince, a faint smile showing on his features as he took something out of his cloak that, despite the close proximity, was indistinguishable to Shahra. "You expected otherwise?"

Shahra didn't answer, as she was fast losing the capability to; due to the prince holding up her head. Gravity was making it difficult for blood to reach her brain, thus making falling into unconsciousness a distinct possibility, as the orc had already done half the work needed to allow such a thing to occur. Shahra decided to give in to the encroaching darkness of unconsciousness-she doubted whether she wanted to know whatever the lord of the sin'dorei was doing.

"Feeble thing," Kael murmured, seeing that the high elf had, without much effort already started succumbing to the sleep spell he was weaving, no doubt aided by the physical assault of that orc. "I really ought to send the brute back to Magtheridon," Kael mused softly. "Not only would he probably feel more comfortable around his own kind but it might remove that stench he carries with him."

Still, Tartarus, like the rest of his kind, had his uses. Orcs were simple minded creatures and as long as they were given simple tasks, they would execute them unquestionably and effectively. Of course, such tasks traditionally had to have parameters such as "kill x number of individuals" or "patrol area y to make sure that no enemies come from area z," but given Outland's nature, such tasks were in abundance. There never seemed to be any shortage of beasts to slay, travellers to slaughter... Also, there was still organised resistance to Illidari rule, the vermin in Shattrath City among them. Kael involuntarily grimaced; _that_ was a debacle that he didn't want repeated.

So therefore, the orcs were a necessary evil, one that Kael was quite willing to bear. After all, with Lord Illidan seemingly losing his loose grip on sanity to a greater extent with each passing day, _someone_ had to take charge of Outland. Truth be told, Kael was rather enjoying it; with his 'master' (the term becoming steadily less concrete) caring less and less what happened beyond the Black Temple and even inside it for that matter, Kael was free to do as he pleased. Although a ruin of a world, Outland still held many interesting secrets that might bring benefit to the prince and those under his command.

At this point in time however, doing what he desired was still extremely distasteful to Kael, namely ensuring that his phyric sleep spell worked on the high elf before him. Although the prince, like many of his kind had abandoned the traditional arcane magics of the Alliance in favour of that of the demonic variety, Kael still held a large degree of proficiency over the former. Such a fact was not widely advertised of course; Kael's official stance was that traditional arcane magic was for the narrow minded, such as the mages of Quel'thalas and Dalaran, who had ultimately fallen to the Scourge. Still, it had its uses. Sometimes.

Of course, the… _thing _before the prince was, like the rest of those traitors that still bore the name "quel'dorei", was ignorant to these facts. It was an interesting parallel in that how both Kael and Illidan, despite their level of sanity being on the opposite ends of the spectrum, both harboured similar resentment to their former people, namely the night elves and high elves respectively, in much the same way; narrow minded fools who couldn't grasp a series of key facts; that power was there for the taking and not sizing it was to invite death.

The key difference of course, was that while Illidan was in no position to claim lordship over his former kin (except by force of course, an option that Kael did not see as too farfetched given the night elf's power), the Sunstrider prince _was_. Despite all his teachings, despite all the evidence provided by the fall of Quel'thalas that the ways of their ancestors were narrow minded and short sighted, there were still those who denied to follow the ways of the sin'dorei, those who would cling to the Alliance like maggots to a corpse.

"_The high elves are mine by right,"_ Kael hissed to himself. _"Those who deny that are traitors, worthy of neither pity nor mercy."_

Of course, bringing his wayward brethren back into the fold, despite them making up less than ten per cent of the elven population (not including the night elves of course) was no simple task. The high elves were scattered throughout the world and although they could be found in significant concentrations at times, such concentrations were almost always found in the heart of human settlements, sucking on the teat of humanity like rats.

To make matters even worse, there were unconfirmed reports of half elves existing in greater numbers. Such creatures disgusted Kael; it was bad enough that the high elves clung to humans, namely a lesser race, for protection, but to breed with them like dogs was simply unthinkable.

In Kael's eyes, half elves had no chance of redemption. While reports indicated that one was leading an anti-Scourge guerrilla group in the Plaguelands and another was actually here in Outland, they were merely two drops in a swamp of filth. Still, Kael had time; namely to hunt down every half elf in the world and put his/her head on a pike outside Tempest Keep.

Fine and mighty thoughts, but the quel'dorei still remained a problem. Their very existence was like an infectious disease in Kael's eyes, and he intended to keep his people shielded from them. Every high elf would either join their bastard offspring in death or see the light that demonic magic brought.

And the elf before him, as repulsive as despicable as she might be, what with those shining blue eyes and that ghastly grey tunic, could provide such a means. Although she'd rejected the ways of the sin'dorei as expected, there was still the promise of redemption.

Kael snapped back into reality, seeing that his sleep spell had come into effect much earlier than it should have-yet another sign of the weakness of those who would deny him, the quel'dorei among them. "Such a weak thing," he mused, running one hand through the elf's hair while taking up the vial that he'd been carrying with the other. "No matter. I intend to give you a sample of power." He smiled; "And by the end of it, you and the rest of your wayward kin will be begging for more."

The acidic green glow of the prince's eyes would have caused even a demon to recoil.

**XXXX**

_Obviously, not much happened in this chapter. I'm not arrogant enough to "promise" that later chapters will be better but I hope that's the case if this one was too boring. Yes, I'm aware that, with orcish treatment and all, this seems to be heading in a Sueish direction, but I'll try to prevent that from happening._

_Note that my review system doesn't apply to this fic so I can't give update dates. Still, reviews are appreciated all the same._


	3. Blight of Hope

Denial

Chapter 3: Blight of Hope

Due to a combination of physical orcish assault and whatever hell spawned magic the Sunstrider prince had cast, Shahra was barely aware of her being dragged out of the cell where she and Kael had had their little 'heart to heart', which had led to contact of a far more extreme level.

Blurry vision and dulled senses made it difficult for the elf to deduce exactly who, or even what was dragging her along. Considering that all that straining her eyes and ears to deduce who the individual did was give her a splitting headache, not to mention that it was amplified due to a lack of meditation, it didn't take Shahra long to give up on that idea. She fell back onto the hope that it wasn't Tartarus, hoping that it wasn't misplaced.

However, hope had become increasingly difficult to find or even summon in recent times. It was supposedly the systemic of one's greatest strengths and weaknesses, but Shahra knew that, at least as far as her own experience went, hope was linked to weakness and weakness only. Before the fall of Quel'Thalas, there was little to no need for the quel'dorei to summon hope. After the fall, perhaps due to a lack of experience, hope had been next to impossible to find. If it was found, it tended to be fleeting. Shahra grimaced mentally as she reflected on that fact;

The journey to the Dark Portal had been testament to this after all…

**XXXX**

_The Blasted Lands, as the name implied, were a wasteland, a piece of hell completely devoid of life, or at least life of the kind that one possessing a sane mind appreciates. The creatures that wandered its barren plains were either those that were drawn to the region for reasons either good or ill, or simply had no choice in the matter._

_Currently mounted on one of the horses that humans bred, namely in that it lacked the superior breeding techniques of the elves, Shahra Dreamsinger considered herself one of the former. The two mounted Nethergarde soldiers accompanying her however, were definitely those of the latter, and made no secret of their reluctance._

"_Why anyone would want to travel down this path is beyond me," muttered Roan, namely of the soldiers that was escorting Shahra, his full plate armour clanking heavily as if to agree with his assessment. Had the human even tried to hide his words from the elf, he would have failed; elven ears were simply too refined not to miss the simple words of the common tongue of men. That the wasteland had descended into absolute silence, the only alternative being howling, unearthly winds, only added to the female elf's ability to hear._

"_It's to be expected really," pointed out the second soldier, Jerrik, leaning over to his comrade as he did so. "She's an elf. They've always got there ears up in the clouds, and their brains by extension."_

_Shahra remained quiet as the two grunts chuckled, although she was fuming mentally. Whether her ears were indeed up in the clouds or not, they were beginning to turn red just the same._

_The soldiers clearly expected, or at least hoped that Shahra would respond to their comments given that, due to a lack of any response, they drew their mounts up from riding behind the elf to either side of her. While externally it may have conveyed a sense of more secure protection, internally, or at least in Shahra's mind, the humans' actions were clearly intended to intimidate. _

"_Why do you want to head to the Dark Portal anyway?" asked Roan, the one that Shahra had judged to be the elder of the two, given that his face was more heavily tanned and weatherworn than his counterpart, indicating that he had been stationed at Nethergarde for awhile, the rank of captain adding further credence to the assumption. "Some sort of warped pilgrimage?"_

_The blue glow in Shahra's eyes turned a lighter shade of blue as she glared at the man; "My reasons are my own, **sir**. I'd prefer it if you respected-…"_

"_Want to go orc hunting perhaps? You'll find some good old fashioned brutes in Outland." The second comment had come from what Jerrik. Shahra guessed that he was at least a decade younger than his comrade, given that he was paler, more energetic and, given his comments about orcs and ogres, disappointed that hunting them down was no longer as simple as it had been during the Second War and its aftermath. He must have born a generation too late to experience the adventure and horror of such a conflict. Such was the result of short life spans._

"_Don't kid yourself squirt," Roan chuckled. "Leather armour and a flimsy dagger do not a warrior make." Shahra shuffled uncomfortably on her saddle, reflecting how such light armour and weaponry were next to useless against the beasts that roamed these lands and the homeland of the orcs._

_Still it was all she could afford, or at least afford to have enough gold left over to hire two soldiers from Nethergarde to act as an escort in the journey south. Considering that the soldiers stationed at the fortress were veterans for the most part and that the wastelands were infested with dangerous creatures; ogres and demons among them, it had seemed like a good choice at the time. Once again though, irony and hindsight went together hand in hand._

"_I'm capable of looking after myself," the elf responded stiffly, hoping that the soldiers would believe her more than she did. "You need not concern yourself with my safety after you've escorted me to my destination."_

"_Oh, we won't, trust me," spat the older man. "We all know how adept at elves are at letting others fight their battles after all!"_

_Shahra visibly winced; she was aware of the bitterness that many humans felt, especially those of Lordaeron, towards the elves of Quel'Thalas for abandoning the Alliance after the Second War, having considered their debt to those of the Arathi bloodline, namely through Sir Anduin Lothar, repaid. That hundreds of humans had given their lives to defend the kingdom and therefore allowing its leaders to come to the not so astounding conclusion that the Horde was indeed a universal threat, was apparently irrelevant._

_Still, the Scourge's desecration of the ancient forest kingdom had been testament to the saying that "pride comes before a fall." Without the support of the Alliance, Silvermoon had little hope of staying the hand of undeath. Shahra's people had paid a heavy price for their arrogance that dark day, and although she grieved for those that had fallen to the undead, she was at least partially grateful for the fact that justice had been served._

_Unfortunately, many humans seemed to think that more justice was required, or at least that the quel'dorei deserved to experience more humility. Although Stormwind was welcoming as a whole for high elves who had declined to walk the path that their ruler had proposed, it was often overshadowed by the inhabitants that weren't so hospitable, who endeavoured to make life unpleasant through their comments; "donkey ears", "magic addict", "backstabber…"_

"_I am sorry for what happened in the Second War, truly," said Shahra softly, the blue glow of her eyes becoming less vibrant. "However, my people are in your hands now."_

"_Your point being?" snarled Roan._

"_My point," said Shahra; "is that we are at your mercy, and I hope that you give us a chance to redeem ourselves before you tighten your grip."_

"_Oh can the melodrama!" yelled Roan, even causing Jerrik, who had previously been listening passively while enjoying the show, to look up in surprise. "You elves, you think yourselves so high and mighty! Your kind knows nothing of loss!"_

"_What!?" The icy glow in Shahra's eyes would have made even the Lich King proud. However, unlike the lord of the undead, Shahra's rage was far more raw and vibrant. Standard human prejudice was one thing, but for this man to suggest that…that…_

"_How dare you suggest such a thing!?" the elf snarled. "You weren't the one who lost your homeland to undeath!"_

"_Yeah, we lost it to the orcs instead!" Roan responded. "And we would have had an easier time defending it in the Horde's second invasion if your kind had sent more than a single cadre of archers!"_

_That Shahra's ears were red, her eyes icy blue and her knuckles white, it was obvious that she was either under a lot of stress or experiencing rage worthy of a demon. In actual fact it was a combination. It might have abated had Shahra been allowed to put forward her point that the said cadre not only accounted for the deaths of hundreds of orcs but had been led by Alleria Windrunner, a ranger who had not only been regarded as one of the most skilled archers in the known world, but had fought and died alongside her companions to seal the Dark Portal and save Azeroth from destruction, but she decided that it wasn't worth getting deeper into the quagmire of debate. Still, she mused bitterly on the man's words; anyone who said that elves never made sacrifices for the greater good was either woefully ignorant of history or blatantly ignored it. She guessed that Roan at least was one of the latter._

"_And once again, humanity has to fight your people's battles for them!" continued Roan, pressing his point, shattering Shahra's misfounded hope that the argument would peter out. "Giving gold to the CO for an escort! We're soldiers, not mercenaries!"_

"_She did give us an excuse to actually get out of the fortress," said Jerrik softly. While he had been enjoying the show up to this point, he had become aware that bodily harm to either his captain or the elf was now a distinct possibility._

_Of course, with full plate armour and a longsword up against a flimsy dagger and leather armour, the chances were heavily in favour of Roan. Although Jerrik had his share of healthy prejudice (although those strange nocturnal elves that sometimes appeared in the eastern kingdoms often urged far more extreme actions), Jerrik had no particular desire for yet another corpse to be added to the lands around Nethergarde; the captain would almost certainly find a way to get some of the blood off his hands and put it on his subordinate's, therefore being able to share the blame. Needless to say, Jerrik didn't want this; he had other plans for the future._

"_We only have a few more miles to travel," murmured Shahra, gritting her teeth. "It won't be long before we're both pleasantly bereft of each other's company."_

"_But by what means?" Roan snarled, not trusting Shahra any further than she could probably throw him (since he could probably throw the frail bitch quite far, the usual phrase didn't work). "How do we know that you're not leading us into some kind of ambush?"_

_Shahra chuckled softly at the human's suspicion, how he'd barely thought out his irrational accusations before voicing them. Still, it was likely that the human would take silence as an admission of guilt, so the elf had to respond; "I think even you realise how unlikely that is, good sir. These lands are virtually bereft of all life, the only creatures of note being ogres, which don't have the mental capacity to even understand what an ambush is and demons, who would slaughter me along with you two."_

_Roan made a move to respond but stopped short, logic defeating him. However, while logic had won the battle, the war had yet to end; "Fair enough, but why travel down this road? What could possibly prompt your interest?"_

_Shahra sighed, irritated at the return to their first argument; "I thought we'd already gone through this. My reasons are my own and-…"_

"_Want to join up with your brethren perhaps?" asked Jerrik light heartedly, glad that the conversation had taken upon a more civil tone and was therefore safe for him to re-enter. "I hear that Outland is a haven for the blood elves. You know, the rest of your kind."_

_That did it. Shahra yanked the reigns of her horse, bringing it to a sharp stop that was no doubt unpleasant for the creature. Both men brought their own mounts to a stop (more gently of course) and looked at her with surprise and curiosity. For their efforts, a stare of pure ice greeted them, the elf looking at the humans with a combination of hatred and disgust. Even the air around them seemed unusually cold. Ironic how what had been a light hearted statement, or at least intended as such, had sent the female over the edge._

"_How dare you?" Shahra whispered. "How dare you think that I would willingly join those, those..."_

"_Those that gave into their lust for power and magic?" Roan asked. "It's a fair assumption really. After all, the elven race is divided into those that have accepted the truth about their tainted blood and those who have yet to do so." He leered at her; "Protecting potential traitors is hardly appealing, don't you think?"_

"_**Are you insane!?"** Shahra yelled. "Do you seriously think my people would embrace the path our dark-…"_

"_What people?" asked Roan snidely. "The blood elves are the people of Quel'Thalas now. I couldn't really apply the term to you so called high elves." He gave out a malicious chuckle; "Even the name of your race is a relic of the past. And why should we waste our time guarding that?"_

_The icy glow in Shahra's eyes remained, although the effect was reduced due to the tears running down her face. After five years of living in Stormwind, Shahra, like the rest of her kind, had learnt to deal with the odd insult and glance of suspicion, mainly because they could understand the nature of the hostility the members of the Alliance regarded them with, ranging from bitter memories of the Second War from the humans, differing philosophies from dwarves and gnomes and outright hatred and disgust from the, thankfully few, night elves._

_Still, they'd persevered, each elf with his or her own method. Shahra could bear it because she understood that the suspicion was warranted to a degree, what with the elves leaving the Alliance after the Second War and the dark history of the Highborne. She'd lived in hope that, in time, the high elves could account for these sins and be fully welcomed by their former allies and current protectors._

_However, if such suspicions existed in humans, namely the race that had been the most welcoming and sympathetic to the quel'dorei as a whole, thoughts that they could even consider siding with their demon consorting brethren, those that had spat upon everything that Silvermoon had stood for, then what hope was there for redemption in their eyes? It had become clear to Shahra that the Alliance would never accept her people and would probably execute genocide as soon as the night elves reached the required level of political influence. What hope was there?_

_None as far as Shahra could see._

_Such a conclusion explained why the elf jumped down from the horse that she'd been riding, tossing the reigns to a startled Jerrik. With that, she stormed off, still heading for the Dark Portal, but uncaring as to whether she actually reached it. These former cave dwellers could never understand her reasons for wishing to visit Outland anymore than they could understand the plight of her people._

"_Where you off to now?" called out Roan. He was glad that he was finally bereft of the magic addict's presence but was still curious as to whether she was continuing towards her original destination._

"_**Away from you!"** Shahra shouted, quickening. "You and your damned Alliance can go to hell for all I care."_

"_Oh we won't be doing that," Roan sneered. "We're not heading in the same direction as you and the rest of your bastard race!"_

"_Wh…what about your horse?" Jerrik asked softly, or at least as softly as possible while still ensuring that Shahra could hear him. He had his suspicions about the elf, but this seemed a little…extreme. Plus, elves were aesthetically pleasing after all._

"_Take it back to Nethergarde," Shahra called out, her voice sounding hollow rather than full of rage. She could tell that Jerrik had a sense of decency that far outstripped that of his superior. However, giving in to the baleful influence of hope and believing that more people like Jerrik existed in the world was tantamount to suicide and Shahra managed to resist it and kept walking, not caring nor noticing that both soldiers turned their horses around and started heading back to Nethergarde._

"_Hope has no strength," Shahra reflected bitterly. It was merely the refuge of the deluded, those who refused to face reality. Shahra was facing reality right now, namely that her kind were not welcome in the Alliance and never would be. The Horde was hardly an alternative, but not due to the negative portrayal that the Alliance gave, one that the Horde presumably returned to its counterpart. High elves had fought and killed orcs and trolls in the past and the Horde was full of those._

_No, the Horde would be no more welcoming to Shahra or her people than the Alliance. Orcs and trolls had reason to her hate elves almost as much as humans and the tauren had expressed disgust at their magical addiction numerous times. Plus, the sin'dorei had been welcomed into their ranks also. That, of all things, made joining the Horde out of the question._

"_**There is an alternative though."** Shahra stopped, startled at the voice. Was she not alone out here? The Blasted Lands were as empty as far as she could see, but that did not necessarily mean that they were. "What alternative?" she whispered, deciding that the voice was simply her conscience speaking to her, yet still being unnerved by it._

"_**Consider these facts; the Alliance will never accept you and the Horde will hardly be welcoming either. However, while the former is a rabble of hypocritical dogs, the latter at least has a degree of honour to it, not to mention fellow kin."**_

_Shahra shook her head as she kept walking; "The blood elves are NOT my kin, nor will they ever be!"_

"**_And under what basis is that? The humans that left you to your own devices just now were rare among their kind in that they did not stab you in the back at the earliest opportunity. The Alliance will never offer tolerance nor security to your people and their double standards will only prevent genocide for so long."_**

"_So then what? I'm to offer my services to a bunch of savages?" Although the events of the Third War had led many to accept that the Horde was not the same juggernaut of destruction as it had been in the past, even elves had trouble overcoming established prejudices, even ones established ten millennia ago._

"_**Not necessarily. But remember that, apart from ideology, the sin'dorei and quel'dorei are the same. Outland can offer you sanctuary, something more than what your motives provide for. The blood elves can offer a better life, something that the Alliance nor Horde will never do. Consider this well, for choice is still open to you." **With that, the voice of Shahra's conscience faded, leaving the wind as the only source of sound. She stopped to savour it, despite the dust the breeze carried. Eventually she resumed her trek southwards, marvelling at how despair could affect a person's line of thinking._

_But still…_

**XXXX**

It was with a sudden jolt that Shahra returned to the waking world, removed from…well, "dream" was a poor term to describe what the elf had experience, as the word implied a degree of pleasure. "Nightmare" was fairly inaccurate also, as the vision was too realistic for such a thing. No, as unfortunate as the circumstances were, "flashback" was the best word to explain what had happened.

Shahra shuddered, trying to repress the unpleasant memories along with the bitter taste in her mouth. To take her mind off the experience, she focussed on her surroundings; she was in a small, windowless room, much like the cell where she'd spent the past week in the bowls of Tempest Keep. However, unlike the dark, dirty dungeons where shed' first been thrown into, this cell was far more pleasant; white marble walls with lanterns attached to them, giving off a faint orange glow. _"Am I even in a cell at all?"_ Shahra wondered, the foolish emotion that was hope rising in her.

Since her effort to rise was stymied by the handcuffs around her wrists which were attached to a small pole in the ground, it was obvious that she was indeed in a cell, albeit a more pleasant one. However, the solace such a fact provided little to no comfort, given that Shahra slumped back, ready to-…

And stopped short, finding that, to her shock, she had just lain against someone's' back. Turning her head around, she could see another individual facing the opposite direction as she was. Obviously a male, he was handcuffed the same way she was. Whether he had been awake already or whether Shahra had woken him by colliding against his back was irrelevant, as the male turned around to face her to the best of his ability; "So," he said slowly, a hint of humour in his voice. "Sleeping beauty finally awakens." Shahra groaned inwardly with frustration showing outwardly; of all the possible cellmates in the world, why did it have to be a _human _of all things?

Fate was as much a bitch as a blood elf maiden.

**XXXX**

_Ok, given how whacked this chapter is (eg the bulk of it is a flashback), I think a bit of explanation is order._

_Firstly, some of you may have picked up on what seems like an error, in that in the first chapter Shahra's surname is given as Dawnsinger while in this chapter it's given as Dreamsinger. Well, the former has been changed to match the latter, but it does prompt explanation._

_As the first chapter makes clear, I didn't originally plan this as a multi-chaptered fic and therefore didn't give much thought to the naming of the characters (eg Shahra is named after the character in 'Sonic and the Secret Rings', Tartarus is named after the character in Halo 2 who in turn was named after the god/place in the underworld of Greek mythology). Yes, retcons are ugly (as Warcraft fans I'm sure you all know that-Draeni/Eredar lore anyone?) but it was a conscious decision and has some relevance to the plot, although nothing too drastic._

_Hopefully it'll be the first and only time I'll do such a thing in this fic. Secondly, although the genre is angst with action/adventure, I understand that the latter tag has yet to really apply. Probably over the top too. Still, I don't intend to continue this course indefinitely. Yes, there is a plot, or I at least intend to convey one. Just a heads up._

_Anyway, that's all. Review on the way out if you so desire._


	4. Jailbirds

Denial

Chapter 4: Jailbirds

There were times when Shahra wondered why she even bothered to wake up in the morning, why she even bothered to get out of bed an extra hour early for meditation. Why bother to enter the waking world when the denizens looked upon you with distrust at best or with disgust and hostility at worst? Not emerging into such a world may not do any favours to an elf's physical fitness but at least it prevented one's sense of self esteem from being bombarded.

Still, through both willpower and pragmatism, Shahra had always managed to emerge into the world upon the sun's herald, ready to begin the required daily hour of meditation that every high elf had to go through to keep his or her thirst for magic under control, the alternatives being either falling into a raging madness or following the path of their kin and relying on demonic magic to slake their thirst, thus allowing themselves to embrace magic freely, yet at the cost of their own being.

Dawn had always struck Shahra as the best time to prevent this from happening; meditating under the rising sun had a certain appeal, not to mention that it ensured that she had the rest of the day to herself. True, a sun god had never really made its way into quel'dorei religion, but their society had certainly paid homage to the fiery orb and whatever higher being that may be associated with it. Upon reflection, many historians theorized that worship of the sun was simply one of many methods used by the banished Highborne to distance themselves from the ways of night elf society; abandoning homage to the moon goddess Elune to worship her daytime counterpart.

Still, Shahra liked to think that there was indeed a sun deity that would look down upon her as she meditated under its light, as Azeroth turned on its axis to meet his gaze. Doing so also seemed to be an ideal method of preserving the elements of high elf society, given that history and culture were also casualties to the storm of undeath that had engulfed Quel'Thalas.

Did the blood elves still pay homage to the sun? Probably not; they'd turned their backs on half of what high elven society had stood for and the corrupted the values of the other.

Sunlight and meditation had been two luxuries that had been denied to Shahra for the past week. Her original cell lacked a window, and felt infused with abundant arcane energy. She could have never meditated in those circumstances; every attempt to do so had been proven a lost cause, the magic bombarding her senses and therefore preventing the required state of mind to cleanse one's soul from the ravages of arcane addiction.

As far as meditation was concerned, Shahra wasn't sure whether to consider her present circumstances better or worse. True, there was still no window, but at least the cell seemed less infused with free magic, thus making it easier to shut her mind off from the world. On the other, she had her hands bound and a male human was less than a foot away from her. Such circumstances didn't make meditation easy.

There was also the fact that Shahra had a strange, bitter taste in her mouth. She tried swallowing a few times along with licking the interior of her mouth but it just wouldn't go away. It was simply…there, and whatever was the cause, it certainly wouldn't do any favours for her concentration.

Instinctively, and without really thinking, the elf tried tugging her bound hands away from the small metal pole, hoping beyond hope that perhaps it would come out of the marble ground. The human looked on with amusement, as to how pointless Shahra's attempts were and that the elf seemed to be oblivious to that fact.

"You keep tugging away with that chain dearie, I'm sure the pole will eventually come loose," he said snidely, grinning at the display of desperation and/or stupidity.

Gritting her teeth, Shahra gave one last massive tug, the only result being chafing her wrists and falling back upon the spine of the human next to her. Sighing, she came to the not so astounding conclusion that the pole wasn't going to move, not with her strength at least.

"What's the matter? Giving up?" The human was seemingly determined to chide her into continuing what he considered a source of amusement. Shahra closed her eyes; perhaps it would be best to deal with the problem that the human represented first. She was fluent in Common so meditating in the presence of such a being, considering the opposing genders, would be next to impossible, even without the chain binding her wrists.

Of course, getting the man to shut up would be no easy task, and Shahra knew it. It was indeed testimony to the dire straits of the true children of Quel'Thalas that, despite the regular bouts of racism from overzealous individuals or those with simple distrust and prejudice, humanity was still the most welcoming of the Alliance races, due mainly to the friendship established between the two races after the Troll Wars.

Such a friendship had ultimately resulted in a willingness of humanity to give shelter to their elven friends, namely in the cities of Stormwind and Theramore. Unfortunately, the perception of their allies seemed to be steadily worsening, no doubt prompted by the entry of the blood elves into the horde and whatever lies and exaggerated truths the night elves, some _new_ friends that were seemingly to replace the old, were spinning. Human, dwarf and gnome alike seemed ready to believe them. Heck, even the Wildhammer Dwarves, formerly staunch allies of the high elves, seemed reluctant to barter with them.

So, in Shahra's mind, a human as a cell mate was merely the best possible possibility of a distrustful group. Still, she knew that the circumstances could have been worse. She might have had a night elf as a cellmate, who at best would probably go preaching on about their damn moon goddess or at worst start condemning her for the actions of her ancestors, seemingly ignoring the fact that high elves were descended from the Highborne who had ultimately sided against the Burning Legion.

"Come on, it isn't so tough," the man continued, seemingly disappointed that Shahra was no longer amusing him with a display of futility. "Keep tugging, I'm sure you'll get free eventually."

"Oh shut up," Shahra snapped, deciding that being direct and simple was the best method of getting the lout to be silent. It was of course an invitation for the stereotypical "feisty" comment that drunken humans made when she rejected their advances, but she doubted that alcohol was available to the human in her presence at this point in time.

"Ohh, feisty," said the man, causing Shahra to groan inwardly. "Still, it's better than giving into despair. You'd do well to keep up that attitude."

Shahra raised an eyebrow; she'd left an opening that almost all men took advantage of, yet the male human facing opposite to her was heading in the opposite direction.

Cranning her neck around, she saw that the man had been doing the same. A white tunic and brown trousers with large travelling boots covered a muscular body. He was almost ursine in appearance, with a short black beard giving further weight to the visual impression, along with raising the possibility that he was an overgrown dwarf. Given the short lifespan of humans, Shahra was able to gauge his age, placing him in his late thirties or early forties. What she truly noticed however, was his grey eyes; they belonged to an individual who had either seen too much or, perhaps due to the first reason, had reached a stage where he no longer cared what he saw.

He had obviously been studying Shahra too; "So," he said slowly. "How'd you fall out with your kin?"

"Pardon?"

"How'd you come to be in this cell? I haven't heard of any blood elves who-…"

"Blood elf!?" Shahra exploded. She leaned as close to the man as possible; "Are you insane!? How could you possibly think that I'm a sin'dorei!?"

"Quite simply really," said the man bluntly. "Golden hair, donkey ears, not to mention-…"

"Look at my eyes," Shahra interrupted. She could appreciate that such a demand could be taken as a display of vanity but she'd be damned if yet another human existed in this universe with a false impression of her kind, ignorant of how there was indeed a difference between the quel'dorei and sin'dorei, one that, despite the obstacles and temptations, the former attempted to maintain.

The man looked at Shahra's eyes, seeing the fiery sky blue light that emanated from them, radically different from the acid green of a blood elf's eyes. He seemed taken aback for a moment, but the reaction quickly evaporated; "Oh I see," the man said slowly. "You're merely one of those who's yet to give in to the inevitable."

"Inevitable? I beg to differ," said Shahra, full of conviction. "I'd die before I followed the path of my kin."

"I've heard others say that," murmured the man darkly, causing Shahra to raise an eyebrow. Some hint at past events perhaps? It was impossible to tell, as the change of tone quickly reverted back to his earlier disposition. Still, curiosity, while holding danger for felines, was a virtue that Shahra embraced.

"Who are you?" she asked. "When were you imprisoned?"

The man gave the question thought, seemingly debating as to whether he wanted to maintain conversation. "My name's Leonard Ragoa," he said eventually. "Most just call me Leo though."

"Gladly," said Shahra simply, smiling faintly. Honestly, what was it with humans possessing last names that simply didn't mean anything? The only ones who possessed such a thing had adopted pseudonyms, such as Uther Lightbringer or Danath Trollbane.

"What about you?" asked Leo, obviously referring to the name of his cellmate.

"Dreamsinger," said Shahra eventually, deciding that giving out her name posed no real risk. "Shahra Dreamsinger."

Leo snorted; "Sounded rather off key to me."

"What?"

Leo smiled faintly; "You were brought into this cell a few hours ago. You seemed to be asleep but you wouldn't stop mumbling. Almost drove me nuts."

"I…see," said Shahra slowly, realising that whatever she'd been uttering had probably been related to that unpleasant reminder of past events that shed' experienced. Hopefully her fellow jailbird wouldn't press the matter-it wasn't a subject she was inclined to discuss.

"Still, can't say it was all bad," continued Leo. About the only company I've had for a week, or at least that of a blood elf who-…"

"High elf!" shouted Shahra, correcting Leo's error. Intentional or not, she wasn't going to put up with such misinterpretation."

"Whatever," grunted Leo, glaring at Shahra, despising her for the lies she was uttering. Still, she wasn't backing down and he could see it;

"Fine, if you really are a so called 'high elf', why are you in Outland?" he snarled. "Why leave the safety of the Alliance? To seek shelter with your brethren perhaps? Or, is there perhaps a deeper and darker reason?"

"I could ask you the same question," responded Shahra warily, not liking where the conversation was headed. It reminded her of the trip from Nethergarde, when she'd encountered the same suspicions. "What's a human doing in Outland?"

"I asked first."

Shahra's resolve weakened; the question as to why she came to Outland was to be expected, she was fully aware of that. It had prompted suspicion at Nethergarde and with the soldiers assigned to escort her. But could anyone understand her motives, understand why she'd made a journey to a dead world? Probably not, and she felt no reason to divulge her reasons to a person who was at best snide and at worst a bias, suspicious bastard. And even if she did fully explain her reasons, she doubted whether that would win the man's trust.

"Curiosity," said Shahra eventually. A half truth as it was.

Leo snorted; "That's the best story you can come up with?"

"I don't see you providing any back-story."

"Of course not," said Leo, his eyes narrowing. "Why would I put my trust in you when you can't even make up a story that makes me inclined to do so?"

Thoughts of meditation had fully evaporated from Shahra's mind by this point; all she cared about right now was pointing out a few facts, namely that she was an individual who could be trusted and that there was indeed a difference between the survivors of the holocaust that had been unleashed upon Quel'Thalas. A microcosm of the high elven situation as it was, one that she was determined to follow through.

"You wouldn't understand," said Shahra contemptuously. "But I'm sure even you can see the ravages of our common enemy."

"Huh?"

"I was down in a dungeon for a week," continued Shahra. "I bear the scars, and you can see it."

Like the journey to Nethergarde, Tartarus's physical assault was hardly a pleasant memory and bringing it up was ultimately putting forward the trump card that was pity. It hardly did any favours to the elf's sense of pride, but she was willing to bear with it if she could make at least one human, or any member of the Alliance for that matter, see the truth, that high elves were individuals that they could trust.

The human however, refused to see it; "I see nothing," he said simply.

"Pardon?" asked Shahra. "Can't you see the bruises?"

"All I see is an exceptionally pale face, but considering that you're a stuck up elf, that's to be expected," snarled Leo. "Now either amuse me with some new bullshit or shut up."

Leo's irritation was clearly showing, or at least he hoped it was; he'd awakened a few hours ago to find that he had a cellmate, which had initially boded well. He'd finally have someone to talk to that didn't insist on looking down on him as a lower form of creation. Heck, even the elf's grey tunic and ponytail, stereotypical as they were, were a pleasant reminder of his race's own attire. However, it was obviously too much to hope for, as it was now obvious that he was stuck with a lying, melodramatic bitch that, to top it off, was probably a traitor to her own kind that tried to deny a few facts about her existence and replace them with falsehoods.

Shahra had chosen the second option that Leo gave her, mainly because she was deep in thought. He'd said that he'd seen nothing, absolutely no evidence of physical assault. Yet, according to him at least, she'd only been here a few hours; no creature apart from a troll could heal so quickly.

That he was lying was a possibility, but, at least in the statements about her appearance and the time she'd been with him, the man appeared genuine. Yet if that was indeed the case, how had she healed so quickly?

"_Did the events down there even happen at all?" _Shahra wondered. She assumed that they did so; the memory of a fel orc pummelling her was too vivid to be falsehood. It was of course possible that she'd been healed after the encounter, but why would Kael'thas authorise such treatment when not only was she a prisoner, but in his eyes, a filthy traitor? What would prompt such generosity? Why was there no sign of bruising, the only indication of something physically wrong being that strange, bitter taste in her mouth that refused to go away?

"You said that you were in cells below?" Leo asked suddenly.

Shahra glared at him; "I thought you weren't talking to me.

"I said I wasn't going to put up with bullshit. I'm giving you a second chance."

Shahra sighed mentally, guessing that the truth was going to be interpreted as a lie, but simply couldn't be bothered to make up a genuine lie that might be interpreted as truth; "Yes, I was in a cell below," she said eventually. "About a week."

"I see," said Leo, seemingly believing her on both counts. "We must have been captured around the same time."

"What?"

"I've been here a week too," he said. "Can't say the company's that great, but it makes a change."

Shahra wasn't sure whether to take Leo's words as a compliment or insult, but didn't dwell on the matter. Instead, she pondered on his original statement, that he'd been captured around the same time. _"Could the timing be related perhaps?"_ she wondered. _"Probably not. I don't see what kind of possible link there could be."_ Although a dull prospect, Shahra had accepted that coincidence did indeed exist in the universe.

"It's as I thought…" Leo mused softly to himself.

"Pardon?" asked Shahra, her sharp hearing picking up his words.

"The Sunstrider prince has added a level of dungeons to the lower levels of the keep," said Leo, turning to meet Shahra's gaze. "No doubt for any excess prisoners his forces capture. Can't say the naaru are going to very happy."

"The what?" Shahra asked, having never heard of a 'nah-roo' before.

"Or the draenei for that matter," Leo continued, ignoring the elf's query.

"What the hell is a-…"

"Ardelan's going to be-…"

"Alright, slow down!" yelled Shahra. She knew that shouting could incur the human's beratement, but she felt that she was making progress in acquiring his trust, something that rarely worked amongst others of his kind. It seemed safe to pursue truth; "you're not making sense."

"I'm not?" asked Leo, clearly surprised. Either the traitor had suddenly become a good liar or she was woefully ignorant of her lord's manners.

"For starters, you said that Kael created a section of dungeons on the lower levels of this keep. Yet if that's the case, why keep you in a separate cell? How'd you come to receive special treatment?"

Leo shrugged; "Hell if I know. Still, it's not that surprising really, that the prince would throw a traitor to both his kind and the Alliance into darker…" He trailed off, seeing that the elf was seemingly on the verge of tears. "Something wrong?" he asked.

Shahra didn't answer immediately, too disgusted with her cellmate to do so. The man was obviously a sadistic sociopath, leading her on into thinking that she could obtain the trust of another species, thus brightening the prospects of her own race. Yet in the end, he turned out to be a two faced manipulator, sending her sense of hope down in flames for his own warped gratification.

"Five years," said Shahra softly, the tears streaming down. "We've been in the care of the Alliance for five years, and you've still yet to place any trust in my people!"

"Um…" Leo trailed off, the elf's reaction having caught him off guard.

"**Yes, perhaps we signed our own death warrant when we withdrew from the Alliance!"** Shahra continued, her frustration pouring forth like water from a breached dam, letting out what she and the rest of her kind wanted the Alliance to see, knowing that the Horde, especially with the blood elves in its ranks, would never offer shelter. **"Yes, perhaps we wrongly relied on humanity to fight the Second War for us!** **Yes, perhaps the destruction of Quel'Thalas was a form of justice! Yes, I** **understand that regarding us with suspicion is perhaps natural! Yet five years have passed since that dark day and we've still to regain any trust that you once regarded us with! By the Light, we're still waiting for a chance for you to do so!"** It was all too much for Shahra as she finally gave in to the frustration and simply let literal water pour from her eyes.

"If a chance for redemption is what you want," said Leo eventually, talking slowly and deliberately, "then I can arrange that."

Shahra looked up in puzzlement; "Pardon?"

"Am I correct in assuming that equal recognition is what you want, as much as to escape from this keep?"

"Yes, of course," said Shahra, feeling that treacherous emotion that was hope sliding back into her, yet still welcoming the feeling. "But why are you asking me this?"

Leo smiled faintly as he leant as close to Shahra as possible; "I plan to escape from Tempest Keep in the near future. And you, donkey ears, are going to help me."

**XXXX**

_I'm probably going to get flamed for all the melodrama that I've heaped into this chapter, but 'angst' isn't a chosen category for nothing. _

_It's probably a piece of forgotten lore, but it seems odd to me how the role of the sun is seemingly ignored in Warcraft, as to whether there's any sun god. It's stated that high elves "embraced sun worship", not to mention that in 'The Well of Eternity', it's mentioned that one of the night elf legends concerning Cenarius's origin was that he was the offspring of the sun and moon._

_Ultimately false of course, but it still got me wondering, hence a bit of 'narrative theorisation' on the nature of high elven sun worship._


	5. The Great Escape

Denial

Chapter 5: The Great Escape

There was a saying circulated throughout the races of Azeroth, mainly those who had made a commitment to either the Horde or Alliance yet were not keen on open war, that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, that an individual, even a species should not be judged on physical appearance alone.

It was of course idealists that circulated such an idea, namely those of the factionalised races who had concerns that the uneasy peace between the two world bodies could erupt into something more, something far worse. Many had realised that the best way to prevent this from happening was to dilute the prejudices that the mortal races felt towards their counterparts, whether it be the long established hatred between man and orc or more recently established ones such as that between the dwarves and tauren. It was far easier to hate than to forgive of course, but the idealists, however few, pressed on.

Outland however, was something else entirely. Even the most deluded individual could not deny that any beauty that the world once had was, for the most part, completely removed. No mortal creature could possibly find any appeal in such a shattered, broken world, a mere husk of its former grandeur simply floating in the Twisting Nether. What had been started with the coming of Kil'jaeden and the corruption he had forced upon the land through Gul'dan, had been finished in a single, terrible moment when Ner'zhul's portals had consumed the planet in a violent, apocalyptic explosion of dark energy, shattering the planet for all time.

As a result, the only individuals that still walked upon the world were, for the most part, either the insane, the desperate or those with dark dreams and ambitions. Yet the traveller who was currently walking through the Netherstorm, the region of Outland that had once been known as the Fields of Farahlon when the planet still bore the name of Draenor. Nowadays, Outland was divided into seven geographical regions; the Netherstorm, the Blade's Edge Mountains, Zangarmarsh, the Hellfire Peninsula, Nagrand, Terrokkar Forest and the Shadowmoon Valley.

Although each region was nothing more than a shattered piece of rock connected to other shattered pieces of rock, it was the Netherstorm, the region that sat in Outland's northeast that had suffered the most from the apocalypse that Ner'zhul had unleashed in his attempt to escape the wrath of the Alliance and Kil'jaeden, only succeeding in evading the former. The land was composed of islands of bleached, purple rock, devoid of any natural life. It was to be expected of course, considering that the region was situated on the threshold of the Twisting Nether; the ethereal dimension of magic that connected the worlds scattered throughout the Great Dark.

Such circumstances suited the blood elves well. The abundance of magical energy had prompted the establishment of the mana forges; gargantuan structures designed to draw magic from the Twisting Nether to satiate their thirst for magic, ensuring that they did not have to follow the path of denial and humility that their misguided quel'dorei cousins insisted on following.

The traveller had learnt long ago that hope could be the greatest, most fulfilling emotion that existed for sentient beings to experience, apart from demons of course, whose emotions were limited to simple ones, such as rage, hatred and contempt. Yet maybe that was a strength, for, relatively more recently in the course of his life, the traveller had learnt that hope could be a blinding force, preventing those who experienced it from seeing the truth of their circumstances.

If asked how he viewed hope now, the traveller would be hard pressed to answer for the most part, considering that current circumstances had been established too recently to make a judgement…for himself, at least. Walking through the Netherstorm however, he could feel nothing but contempt for the emotion, seeing how it could drive sentient creatures to the most pointless of tasks.

He'd passed by the Eco Dome Midrealm, he'd seen the fruit of the labour of those who thought that Outland could still be salvaged, could be turned back into a world that harkened back to its original state, when verdant grasslands covered a world known as Draenor. He shook his head; pointless pursuits carried out with an equally pointless goal in mind. Draenor had been lost forever, and sooner or later, the idealists would have to realise that. There were far more pressing tasks to deal with, including his own.

To that end, he ignored the horror that the Netherstorm had to offer, and focussed purely on his destination;

Tempest Keep.

**XXXX**

"You plan to escape?" asked Shahra, upon hearing Leo's statement that he intended to do so.

"What, you didn't hear me the first time?" asked the human. "I thought your kind was meant to have good hearing."

"It's not that I didn't hear," said Shahra, ignoring the remark. "I just would have thought that…" She trailed off-if he wanted her help to do so, it was probably best that she remained on the man's good side.

"That what?" Leo asked. "That I've spent the past week in this cell without contemplating possible measures to improve my circumstances?"

"I…well, I didn't give it much thought," Shahra admitted sheepishly, feeling slightly ashamed at the lack of action she'd spent over the last week. Hell, she'd even asked Kael'thas if he'd _allow_ her to leave!

Leo went to say something, paused, then thought better of it. "Do you know where we are?" he asked eventually.

"Tempest Keep," Shahra answered. Technically she wasn't entirely sure, but she'd heard Tartarus mention it a few times. Not that she was particularly inclined to trust the word of an orc, let alone one who had completely given in to bloodlust, but what would the beast have to gain by lying?

"Correct," said Leo. "But where in Outland is Tempest Keep situated?"

"I…I don't know," Shahra admitted genuinely. Her arrival in Outland hadn't exactly presented any opportunities to learn about the geography of the world.

"Very well," said the human, an air of arrogance about him. "Tempest Keep is situated on the edge of the Netherstorm, which is situated in Outland's northeast. Arguably it's the most inhospitable region of the world and also the easiest to defend."

Shahra raised an eyebrow; it could have been her imagination, but it seemed that Leo was inclined to talk about the region in military terms, how the Netherstorm was separated into numerous floating 'islands', with only a single bridge connecting each block of land, thus allowing a defence that could stymie the efforts of any attacker, through a combination of preventing superior numbers from being brought to bear or destroying the bridge to prevent any progress at all. That the Blade's Edge Mountains were to its west, the only region of Outland that bordered it, didn't help matters.

Such talk seemed odd for what Shahra assumed to be a traveller like herself. True, he seemed like the type inclined for combat, given his muscular frame, but she somehow doubted that he was a one man army, subject to the parameters of an armed force. _"He's probably just getting ahead of himself,"_ thought the elf.

"Tempest Keep is no different," continued Leo. "Believe it or not, it actually floats above the Twisting Nether, making it virtually impregnable to any-…"

"You're telling me this _why_, exactly?" asked Shahra, with a degree of annoyance. Military logistics wasn't a topic that particularly interested her and if the man continued to yak on, a headache was probably a likely result. The strange, bitter taste in her mouth was bad enough.

Leo glared at his cellmate, wondering whether he had the right idea in asking for her aid (of course, it was mutual so it wasn't such a blow to his pride). "I'm telling you this," he said slowly; "because it's important that you understand the nature of the region, and how its geography makes assault or escape basically impossible."

"If it's so impossible, how do you propose to do so?" Shahra asked, annoyance beginning to rise in her. _"Are snide remarks and lectures on military strategy all I can expect from_ _this man?"_ she wondered, knowing that the inevitable results would be a complete breakdown and sheer boredom respectively. _"Odd," _she thought. _"I've lived in the Eastern Kingdoms for five years, yet I'm only letting suspicion and racism get to me now…" _She shrugged the feeling off; everyone had a breaking point. Maybe she'd just reached hers.

"Simple really," said Leo in response to Shahra's question, his annoyance at the female's idiocy getting to him. "It's true that the geography does not favour those who would oppose Kael'thas, yet it's also lulled him into a false sense of security."

"Isn't that being a bit presumptuous?" Shahra asked, remembering her earlier confrontation with the ruler of the sin'dorei. He'd certainly struck her as an elf that truly had confidence in himself, his people and the ideals he preached, but not to the extent that she would call him arrogant.

If she was going to call him anything, "demon loving traitor" would be at the top of the high elf's list.

"Maybe," admitted Leo. "However, I overheard two guards talking yesterday, about how-…"

"You understand Thalassian?" asked Shahra, sounding more surprised than she meant to.

"More or less," Leo said, his annoyance rising to a point where he was beginning to fantasise as to what he would be doing right now if he had his hands free and a double handed battlesword. "But before you ask, that isn't an invitation for you to start communicating in it. We'll stick to Common, or not speak at all."

Shahra nodded, not having any problems with the condition. After five years of living among humans, she spoke Common as well as any of them, with words in Thalassian rarely being uttered. Heck, she didn't even _think_ in her native tongue half the time. An advantage, some might argue.

Still, she had to admit, she felt slightly impressed at the man's claim, one that, despite her misgivings, she was inclined to believe. Thalassian was an intricate language, one that humans rarely had the skill, or at least the time in their short life spans, to master. Had Leo been able to learn it through skill, time, or a combination? Shahra pushed the question to the back of her mind; he didn't seem like the type to give information freely, or at least information that he didn't deem to be necessary.

"Anyway, from what I heard, the bulk of the blood elf forces stationed here are going to be conducting field exercises in the northern section of the Netherstorm, making the keep virtually empty," Leo continued. "Not only does that ensure that the keep is virtually abandoned, but it ensures that the soldiers are on the wrong side of the Netherstorm to prevent a journey south."

"South?" Shahra asked. "I thought you said that the only true land connection from the Netherstorm was with the Blade's Edge Mountains. To the west."

"Your point being?" asked Leo. It was clear that he had something else in mind, but wasn't intent on elaborating. Considering that he possessed the ridiculous suspicion that his cellmate could be in league with the sin'dorei, Shahra didn't find the reluctance that surprising.

"_But if he possesses such suspicions, why is he telling me anything?" _the elf wondered. Like many questions she desired answers to, ranging from what a 'nah-roo' was to what the hell that strange, bitter taste in her mouth was due to, Shahra resolved to put it back on the backburner.

"Something wrong?" asked Leo, noticing his companion's silence.

Shahra snapped back to reality. He seemed to be waiting for anymore questions that she had to ask or, if she had none, her approval of his plan to make a break for it. Shahra resolved to take the first option; if she suddenly agreed to his plan, he could suspect her of being a blood elf spy who, having learnt of his plan, would deal with it when appropriate.

"It seems…odd that Kael'thas would empty the keep of most of his forces," said the high elf eventually. It wasn't exactly a question and it wasn't exactly original either, but Shahra resolved to make do. "_The human probably considers me an idiot anyway," _she reasoned bitterly. Still, that could be advantageous.

"You've got a point," admitted Leo. "Still, the blood elves didn't build this keep, so they wouldn't value it as highly as you might think."

"Who did build it then?" asked Shahra. Leo seemed to regret letting out more than he intended, considering that his face darkened and his eyes became sharper.

"Doesn't matter," he said firmly. Nodding, Shahra put yet another query on her "questions I want answers to" list.

"So, anymore questions _milady_?" Leo asked sarcastically. "Or are you ready to accept me as your knight in shining armour?"

"Don't get any ideas," said Shahra, shuddering at the thought of such a thing. "But you still haven't explained as to how you intend to escape from this cell, it's not as if…" She trailed off, her elven hearing picking up the sound of soft footsteps coming from outside, steadily approaching the cell. Leo grinned at her;

"Consider yourself lucky paleskin. You're about to get a firsthand lesson in prison breakouts."

Given the prick the man was, Shahra wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or worried.

**XXXX**

The traveller was making good time, and he knew it. The Netherstorm was the eye of the storm that represented hell, with its magic soaked soil and the purple sky itself seemingly looking down on all those beneath it with malicious intent. For those weak of spirit, the environment could easily convince them to turn back and head for the Blade's Edge Mountains, preferring physical horrors to less obvious, yet more eerie ones. The traveller was able to bear with it though. Plus, he hadn't actually come via the land route, so turning back wasn't an option.

Not that he would have ever considered it though. He knew his target, and all that mattered was that he reached it, ascertain what he could concerning what he and others suspected and act or report back to his comrades as appropriate. Capture or death were distinct possibilities of course, but he'd pushed them to the back of his mind, focussing only on his goal.

The ease at which he did so might have surprised many mortal races, but then again, the possibility of death had been with him and others of his kind for time immemorial.

It was this resistance to fear, or at least the ability to ignore it, that allowed the traveller to walk briskly across the Netherstorm, not to mention that his physical anatomy allowed him to do such a thing without tiring. To his satisfaction, he saw that his quick pace had paid off, considering that Tempest Keep was now in sight.

And something else…

The traveller stopped still, seeing what looked like a giant, red creature walking over the bridge that extended from the keep, courtesy of blood elf construction. He froze for a second, allowing fear to take him over for a second. Yes, he knew that Draenor had some monstrous creatures, such as the immortal gronn and the worm-like bursters and the apocalypse that the orc shaman Ner'zhul had unleashed hadn't helped matters, but he'd never heard of a creature that extended for hundreds of metres. Unless… He took a closer look. No, it wasn't a single creature, but rather a host of hundreds of smaller ones;

Blood elves.

Doing his best to remain inconspicuous and laughing silently at his paranoia the traveller studied the host, wondering what could have prompted the issuing of such a host. The Netherstorm was virtually under complete Illidari control, and of the pockets that remained independent, none would prompt the deployment of such an army. What could have spurred the blood elves to attack with such overwhelming numbers?

But was it an attack? Squinting, the traveller studied the host more carefully. True, it was made up of numerous groups of soldiers, ranging from spell breakers to archers, with blood elves on hawkstriders riding up and down the flanks, but, interestingly enough, there were no banners. While, in the traveller's mind at least, the blood elves were a race that deserved nothing but contempt, they were at least civilised, bearing banners in war. Heck, even the demonic armies of the Burning Legion were inclined to heraldry, their banners rippling due to unearthly winds.

The traveller shrugged mentally; the ways of magic addicts were beyond him. Considering that the army was heading north and therefore presented no immediate danger to him, he resolved to wait until the army passed, then take advantage of their absence when it came to investigating the keep.

The wait however, would be long. Sitting down, the traveller watched the spectacle, fantasising about summoning an army of his kind and engaging the bastards here and now, not to mention ultimately prevailing and casting their corpses down into the Twisting Nether.

They deserved no less after all.

**XXXX**

Leonard, or Leo as he preferred to be called (anyone who called him by his full name, unless they had his explicit permission, usually ended up with a broken nose), was in a world of…well, it was hard for him to say what kind of world he was in. Of course, he knew what world he was in in the physical sense, namely a broken wasteland, but it was his situation and recent events that made him uneasy, in that there were too many unknown factors.

The elf being brought into the same cell, while a boost to the aesthetic value of his surroundings, was strange; why leave a human and a high elf in the same cell, considering that, on the official level at least, the two races were allies? He had quickly pushed any thoughts of the female to the back of his mind, considering that the constant mumbling she'd insisted on eliciting had threatened to drive him nuts. A ploy by the blood elves perhaps, to ensure that he went insane before meeting whatever fate they had stored for him?

Of course, there was the other, more likely possibility that she was merely a spy made to act like a prisoner, in order to coax him into revealing valuable information. It was a common technique used by both the Alliance and Horde when standard interrogation failed. Admittedly, and yet another strange factor, there was the fact that the blood elves had yet to make any attempt to interrogate the human, but perhaps they were merely trying to catch him off guard.

Still given past events, they probably had all the information they needed…

So why put a spy in his cell? Of course, there was the slight possibility that she wasn't a prisoner, the blue glow in her eyes being slight testament to this, but such things could be faked and didn't mean too much in the long run, considering that, with the temptations the blood elves presented to their quel'dorei brethren, converting to their culture was a temptation that every high elf had to deal with.

That was what made high elves so problematic to the Alliance in that they were like a goblin bomb; they either turned out to be a useless dud, or blew up in your face.

Which was what the female had done of course, going berserk at his little taunts and then breaking down. Either the elf was an extremely good actor or she was an emotional wreck. Even if the second possibility was correct, Leo wasn't too moved. _"Probably a pampered brat from Silvermoon who can't understand or accept the realities of the current age," _he thought to himself. High elves had always strived for a society that they deemed superior to that of their human 'allies' after all.

Seeing that the door to his cell had just opened, courtesy of the raven haired blood elf guard that had frequented his cell for the past week to deliver his daily meal of cold soup and water, Leo smiled inwardly, knowing that such an underestimation of humanity could be worked to his advantage.

Leo had never uttered a word to his jailor, conveying the impression that his spirit had been completely broken. Any words that the elf had said to him had assured Leo that not only did he consider the man a member of an inferior species but an individual that possessed no threat whatsoever.

Perfect circumstances.

"Here's your meal dog, eat up," the elf grunted in Common, seemingly disgusted at having to communicate in the tongue of his enemies, unaware of the human's ability to understand his own language and even speak some of it. Dumping the bowl and glass by Leo, the elf prepared to walk out. Leo's heart picked up; the elf walking out, for once, was a bad thing.

"What about my cellmate?" he asked, referring to Shahra, who looked up in surprise. Leo grimaced; he didn't want to convey the impression that he gave a damn about what happened to the bitch, but the question was the first solution to the problem that he faced that came to mind.

The elf seemed equally surprised that the human in his charge had spoken up, but it faded as he took full note of exactly who, and what, the said cellmate was; a filthy traitor.

"Share the bowl if you have to," the blood elf snapped. "Because that's all you're getting." Leo noticed with satisfaction that the male elf was focussing his complete attention on his female counterpart, pure contempt registering in those green eyes of his.

"I'll leave you two to get along," he snarled. "Feel free to make some half breed dogs while you're at it."

"Yeah, I'm sure you know all about _that_," said Leo, the emphasis not lost on the jailor. He knew that if as much as the blood elves hated high elves, a half elf was an even greater evil, simply vermin that existed to be slaughtered.

"What did you say human?" the elf snarled, fingering the blade sheathed in his belt, situated close to the rather conspicuous keys that Leo guessed would open his chains as well as the door.

"Come to think about it, I came across some half elves recently," Leo continued. "They had your features, though not as ugly of course."

Shahra giggled slightly, causing the blood elf to glare at her momentarily before returning his attention back to the human, a human that he intended to give a lesson in humility for the insults his filthy kind was throwing at him. After that, he'd return to the female, determined to give a sample of what awaited traitors to the sin'dorei. Taking her virginity, or adding to the loss (a distinct possibility considering the reported rise in half elf numbers in the lands of the Alliance) was an appealing option, considering that, of the warriors that Prince Kael'thas brought with him to Outland, the ratio between male in female warriors leaned heavily towards the former.

"Of course, that's to be expected," continued Leo. "Humans aren't magic addicted whores after all."

The elf snapped, striding over towards the human; "Alright you filthy creature, I've had enough of-…"

With a speed that surprised all those present, Leo lashed out. His first kick hit the elf's left leg, the second kick the right. The third landed…well, in an area between the legs where no male humanoid liked to be hit.

Leo had obviously planned on saving the best till last, considering that, as the elf came toppling down he wrapped his legs around the magic addict's neck. Shahra turned away, wincing as she heard the sickening crack of someone's neck being snapped.

"That felt good," murmured Leo, releasing his legs from the body that had fallen next to him, spitting on it; "And your soup sucked too, by the way."

With that, he began the unpleasant process of shuffling the corpse close to him with his feet, thus allowing him to snag the keys from the elf's belt, unlock himself, then fight his way out of the keep or die trying, hoping that what had been said about the bulk of Kael's forces moving out for field exercises was the truth.

It was a simple plan of course, but easy to execute. Plus, it allowed Leo to have some fun while he was at it.

"Wasn't that a bit… extreme?" Shahra asked timidly, breaking the silence that had descended over the cell, or at least apart from the sound of a corpse being shuffled across the floor.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Leo replied gruffly, trying to use his bound hands to take the keys from the blood elf's belt. "Why does it matter to you anyway? I thought you high elves despised those who followed Kael'thas."

Shahra remained silent, the realities of such hatred sinking in. True, she never had, and never would condone the path that Kael'thas had chosen, what with fully embracing their Highborne ancestry and relying on demons to satiate their thirst for magic, but, apart from differences of ideology, were not the quel'dorei and sin'dorei the same people?

Shahra liked to think so, but, perhaps like her belief in the possibility of there being a genuine sun deity, it was a fool's hope, driven by fear of high elven prospects should they be cast out of the Alliance, forced to either strike out on their own in a hostile world or seek refuge in the Horde. Shahra shuddered mentally; even without the allegiance of the blood elves, joining a race of savages was not particularly appealing.

With a sigh of relief, Leo finished unlocking his chains, flexing his wrists; "Thank the Light," he murmured. "I've been tied up for an entire week."

"What? They never unbound you?" Shahra asked.

"No," Leo answered, standing up and regaining a sense of balance. "I've had to drink from the soup bowls like a dog." His brow creased; "Probably quite appropriate in the donkey ears' minds."

"Ah," said Shahra, before the statement fully hit her. "Wait a minute. If you were bound for a week, unable to use your hands, how were you able to pee?"

Leo's face darkened; "You _don't _want to know."

Shahra decided to take his word for it.

Seeing the human shove the corpse of his former jailor aside, the high elf couldn't help thinking that perhaps her misguided cousins had the right idea in keeping the man bound; given the surprising speed and skill the human had shown, not to mention a degree of ruthlessness, keeping him bound was probably a safe option.

Still, he was effective, and Shahra couldn't help but feel even more impressed at the man's abilities. True, he could be a jerk and had used such a fact to his advantage to ground her sense of pride into the ground, but such a skill could also be put to good use. Respect was beginning to build up in the elf's mind.

"How come you waited so long to escape?" Shahra asked, trying to maintain a sense of conversation.

"What, you think I'd try to escape with the bulk of Kael's forces in the keep?" Leo asked, flexing his legs. "I'm not suicidal."

Leo started walking to the door, prompting concern from Shahra; "Hey!? Didn't you say that I was going to help you escape?"

"Hmm? Leo asked, turning round to face his cellmate, blissfully unaware of her existence for a few seconds.

"You said, in addition to calling me donkey ears, that I was going to help you escape," Shahra repeated. "You've unlocked yourself. What about me?"

'Oh. Right," said Leo, tossing the keys over, landing by the elf's bound hands, much to her shock; "What? Undo yourself. I'm not your nanny."

Shahra felt her level of respect shoot down a few pegs, but reasoned that it was probably a test of her abilities. He'd said that he wanted her help, but it was only natural that he wanted to be assured of her ability to prove an asset. With that, she began fiddling with the keys and lock, realising it was far more difficult than she had assumed.

Leo was meanwhile examining the short elven blade that had been in the blood elf's belt, seemingly disappointed that it wasn't something larger and more adept at carving flesh from bone. "How good are you with a blade?" he asked Shahra absently.

The high elf shrugged; "Ok, I guess. I'm more inclined to use a bow, but-…"

"Good enough," grunted the human, not listening to a word the elf was saying. He took the blood elf's belt and attached the blade to it. A necessary evil, as it was.

"Ok, I'm free," Shahra announced, flexing her wrists much the same way Leo had, the man striding over to the cell door, fully realising the difference between their physiques. If they were trees, Shahra would have been a willow. Leo would be a eucalyptus.

"What's the plan?" Shahra asked.

"Pardon?" asked Leo as he unlocked the cell door, checking to see if there were any blood elves outside. There weren't.

"I said, what's the plan?" repeated Shahra, not liking how her cellmate and benefactor was seemingly phasing out of reality, or at least ignoring her. She liked the mischievous twinkle in his eyes even less.

"Oh right, the plan," Leo said, grinning. "It's simple really; I run through the keep to freedom, cutting down anyone who gets in my way, while you run a distraction."

"What!?" Shahra exclaimed. This didn't sound like a plan, let alone one that would allow her to escape.

"Don't look at me like that, you elves know what an alliance of convenience is," Leo continued. "While I escape and head to…well, where I'm headed, you get lost in the keep and are either captured by the blood elves, maimed by them, or, with any luck, a combination of the two. Whatever the outcome, I win." He grinned as he saw the elf step back in shock; "Toddles."

With that, he stepped out, intent on escape. Shahra remained stationary for what seemed like an eternity; she had no doubt of the man's ability to escape, but her own prospects were not so bright. It wasn't that which truly bothered her though; it was rather the saddening fact that she had allowed herself to be deluded into thinking that she could acquire a human's personal trust, that she could have been viewed as an ally rather than a liability, or, in this scenario, nothing more than cannon fodder.

"You bastard," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "You absolute _bastard_."

**Author's Notes**

_Truth be told, I expected to be out of Tempest Keep by now, namely by chapter 4. Oh well. For better or worse, it's lasting longer than I expected, with this chapter, over 5000 words, the longest so far. It seemed like a good place to leave off._

_BTW, I should also mention that this fic contains spoilers for events in Outland (quests, plot devices, etc.). For those of you who want to experience these for yourself and have yet to travel there, consider yourselves informed._

_This may the last chapter for awhile, considering I go back to school soon with half yearly exams to boot. If there is an absence, it is not a sign of me abandoning this fic, but merely the result of reality being a bitch (insert angry grumbling)._

_Word._


	6. Heated Discussion

**Denial**

**Chapter 6: Heated Discussion**

High Astromancer Hyperion was one of those rare individuals (apart from demons) who had the gift, or curse depending on one's point of view, of looking perpetually irritated, one who could lash out at those around him at any given moment, the extent of his wrath ranging from descriptive verbal abuse to using his magic to reduce the source of his irritation to a pile of cinders.

It was hard to say whether this came naturally for the male blood elf or whether his irritation was something he had to work on. Only one individual, a fellow sin'dorei mage had asked him such a question, the result being that the impudent blood elf was burnt so severely that he could no longer wield the forces of the arcane.

Regardless of which case it was, the blood elf certainly looked the part of an irrational maniac; billowing black robes, jet black hair cut so short it put human army barbers to shame, icy green eyes and a visage that was not only set in a perpetual scowl but was eerily familiar to the facial features of a hawk or raven. The raven analogy was the more common of the two, considering how it was associated with death, or at least death that didn't involve the deceased being conscripted into the ranks of the Scourge or Forsaken.

Today however, or at least this point in time, the astromancer actually had a valid reason to be irritated. Five minutes ago, one of the guards that remained in the keep had reported that there had been a breakout from one of the makeshift cells in the keep's upper levels. The jailor had been slain, courtesy of a broken neck and the two prisoners, namely a human and high elf were nowhere in the immediate area.

The news had threatened to send Hyperion over the edge, but he had managed to keep his sanity in check, ordering the soldier to alert his comrades to the events and perform a search of the keep for the two escapees. Simultaneously, the astromancer had set off to find Prince Kael'thas, knowing that even in the event of a breakout, just as much as an attack, he was obliged to relay such news to his ruler, following the chain of command.

It was only these obligations that prevented Hyperion from carrying out a search of his own immediately. It was bad enough that there had been a breakout but the species involved… a human male and high elf female, or more specifically, an uncultured cave dweller and a filthy traitor to the Sunstrider dynasty. How such creatures could have possibly escaped was a mystery to the astromancer.

The only solace for Hyperion was that they hadn't gone ahead and produced yet another half breed, although he couldn't be completely sure; humans bred like rodents and, clinging to the Alliance for protection like rats to a sinking ship, he suspected that the quel'dorei, curse them, were inclined to follow suit.

Admittedly however, not all of Hyperion's frustration was directed towards the escaped prisoners but, somewhat heretically, was directed to his own lord. True, Hyperion had nothing but respect and admiration for Prince Kael'thas to the extent that some considered him a sycophant (those who did so vocally tended to end up with magical burns all over their bodies), but in recent times, he had begun to question his actions and ultimate motives.

It had all started a week ago, when Hyperion learnt that there was a high elf down in the cells that the prince had attached to the base of Tempest Keep to deal with any prisoners that came their way. That in itself struck Hyperion as odd, considering how few prisoners were brought to the keep, but regardless, why place a quel'dorei down there, letting the elf's presence risk the contamination of what was a monument to blood elf glory?

True, converting the elf to see the light of reality was a worthy endeavour, but did it have to be _here_, of all places? It wasn't the first time that the prince had shown a lack of interest in maintaining the keep's sanctity, what with employing that barbaric fel orc known as Tartarus at roughly the same time as the elf's capture. True, those beasts had their uses, much like the pitiful Broken Ones, but they did not belong in the presence of the sin'dorei.

And now, to top it off, the prince had sent the bulk of his forces to the northern Netherstorm, for field exercises of all things! By the Great Dark, what could have prompted such an action? It wasn't as if the sin'dorei needed to hone their martial prowess, considering that they'd perfected it long ago. Regardless of the prince's motives, Hyperion could see that his actions had backfired spectacularly, considering that the keep was basically abandoned, filled with the dregs of the blood elf soldiery with only a few competent individuals.

Such as himself for example.

Still, lax security was understandable in a sense, for Tempest Keep was not something that the sin'dorei had crafted themselves. It had caught all of the blood elves off guard when the giant citadel had appeared out of nowhere, residing on the eastern edge of the Netherstorm. It had come as an even greater surprise when dozens of strange beings drifted out from the structure, creatures that shined with a luminous energy. Understandable, considering that they were seemingly _made _out of energy.

The arrival of such a force had prompted the blood elves to investigate, if "investigate" was an appropriate term for storming the keep under Kael'thas's leadership, overcoming its pitiful automated defences and capturing the single naaru who had been left to guard the fortress, its name being Mu'ru.

The perplexed being readily answered the questions that Kael'thas presented him, seemingly unable to grasp that, for all intents and purposes, the structure that was apparently called Tempest Keep now belonged to the blood elves. Apparently his kind had travelled to the world of Draenor, or what was left of it, to stop something that was called the Burning Crusade.

It was obvious that the naaru was referring to the war that the Burning Legion conducted against life and order, a war that would never cease until all life was extinguished from the physical universe and only chaos and depravity ruled, under the whims of cruel demon masters. Only the world of Azeroth had stood triumphant against the Legion's might, and although the demons had been defeated in the War of the Ancients and the more recent Third War, it was a fool's hope that the demons would admit defeat.

Yet they were striking back sooner than anyone had anticipated, having settled on Outland as an ideal staging ground. It certainly explained the recent attempts of the Doom Lord Kazzak back on Azeroth, how he had reopened the Dark Portal, an army of demons following in his wake.

Only scattered reports of the events that followed had reached the blood elves in Outland, but from what information Hyperion had been privy to, infernals had been summoned on a worldwide scale in order to sow confusion amongst both the Horde and Alliance while the bulk of the demon forces spilled out from the Dark Portal.

It had only been through the stalwart efforts of the Argent Dawn, along with reinforcements from Nethergarde and Stormwind, that the Burning Legion was prevented from spilling out from the Black Morass, along with allowing both Horde and Alliance forces to defeat the isolated demon forces that had appeared throughout their territories. It amazed Hyperion that such lesser creatures could have held back such an invasion, but still, the means of doing so hardly concerned him.

Yet why were the naaru here in Outland? The Burning Legion had set their sights on the planet as a staging ground for attacks into Azeroth, along with taking advantage of the portals that Ner'zhul had opened in ages past, portals that Lord Illidan had spared no labour in closing, but that still didn't explain why these creatures would follow in the demons' footsteps.

As it turned out, the naaru, along with celestials and the hopes, were beings that granted the gift of the Holy Light; the non-theistic religion practiced by humans, along with dwarves and elves that were inclined to adhere to its values. It had come as a shock to the naaru when the blood elves reacted with rage and fury at this information, some attempting to slay the creature there and then.

Kael'thas and his commanders, Hyperion among them, had managed to bring their brethren back in line, yet the astromancer could hardly blame them for their rage, feeling it himself-here was a creature who bestowed the power of the Holy Light, a power that had failed the sons and daughters of Quel'Thalas in their hour of need against the Scourge, a power that was seemingly freely gifted to the dwarves and humanity, both species being composed of lesser creatures who had no more claim to power than the descendents of the Highborne. How dare the creature take pride in announcing his dedication to such a hypocritical religious philosophy!?

It did Hyperion's heart good to view the fate that Kael'thas arranged for the creature, namely sending it through a portal to the blood elves' partially rebuilt city of Silvermoon, its powers being channelled into the new order of sin'dorei warriors known as Blood Knights; warriors with the abilities of a paladin, yet without the need to earn the Light's powers through faith.

That power was there for the taking was a belief firmly entrenched in sin'dorei philosophy, a belief that Hyperion was glad to see being upheld.

It was perhaps the joy that Hyperion and his brethren felt that led to a lowering of their guard in the citadel, Kael'thas having established Tempest Keep as his base of operations. Another possibility was the steady feeling of infallibility that Kael'thas seemed to be experiencing with his small victory. Either way, it proved to be their downfall…

Hyperion's scowl deepened even further as he remembered that day, only a few months ago, when he received word that the keep was under attack. At first, he assumed that the culprits were the naaru, who had come to reclaim their fortress. The assumption was partly correct, in that two naaru were among the force that had stormed into the fortress, but that still didn't account for the strange, blue skinned beings that were actually leading the charge.

The attack caught the blood elves unawares, to the extent that the creatures and one of their naaru friends had managed to size control of one of the keep's wings, detaching it from the rest of the fortress and, through means unknown to Hyperion, blasted off from the keep, travelling through the Twisting Nether, out of sight, but not out of mind.

Some Sunhawks; a group of Kael'thas's most loyal servants, under the prince's command, had managed to enter the wing before it departed, complementing the relatively large number of blood elves still present in the section. Their task was to bring the creatures back to Outland in chains, via the Sun Gate; a dimensional doorway that would link Tempest Keep with the wing's crash site.

Unfortunately, that crash site happened to be Azeroth. After two days, a few dozen Sunhawks had made it back through the gate, bleeding and battered. From what they told, the creatures had been aided by an Alliance expeditionary force consisting of Theramorean marines and night elf sentinels who, after a series of close, desperate battles, had sealed the gate before it could be fully opened. They had learnt precious little about the blue skinned mongrels but from what they could tell, they confirmed two facts; they were led by an individual named Velen (as Kael'thas had theorised based on war cries the creatures had uttered) and called themselves draenei.

But how could they have been draenei? The draenei were pitiful creatures; mutated and deformed by the fel energies of the orcs' warlocks, or at least those of Ner'zhul. They were nothing like those that followed Akama!

Or was there something that the elder sage hadn't told the blood elves?

Interrogating the creatures that had failed to follow their brethren proved insightful, not to mention that one naaru had also failed in this endeavour. As it turned out, much to Hyperion's disgust, the strange, blue skinned creatures, were indeed draenei, namely those that, unlike the Broken led by Akama, had not only evaded the wrath of the Old Horde but also the fel energies that were unleashed upon Draenor when Ner'zhul's portals had consumed the primitive red world, turning it into an even more extreme reflection of hell.

Akama had never been inclined to talk about his people's history, and given the story that the uncorrupted draenei gave their captors, Hyperion could see why. The draenei had apparently been blessed with Light energy, courtesy of the naaru, and had sought to escape the broken world of Draenor to find aid in defeating the Burning Crusade. But who would help a race in the service of hypocrites, beings that gave their gifts constantly to some, and withdrew them, no doubt for malicious intent, for others?

Like the blood elves, or high elves as they were then known. Like what the fall of Quel'Thalas had demonstrated…

Hyperion shook away the memories of that fateful day five years ago, walking down the final hallway to where his master could be found. The incident had been resolved satisfactorily, with the draenei working as slaves in Coilfang Reservoir and the naaru, its name being E'tara, having its energies channelled to what would become the Illidari's own blood knights.

The Illidari…the faction that was comprised of the sin'dorei and naga, along with fel orcs and demons that served them willingly or unwillingly, in addition to the Broken; the mutated draenei under the leadership of Akama.

The body that Lord Illidan was head of, his second in command being Kael'thas Sunstrider, the latter sitting on his throne…

Meditating?

Hyperion blinked; sure enough, he could see his lord there on the throne that had been built for him to preside over the citadel. But why was he meditating, his eyes closed, his breathing silent? Meditation was something that only their misguided brethren carried out, a feeble attempt to delay the inevitable. By the Dark Below, why was Hyperion's lord and master carrying out the practice, so deep in meditation that he seemingly hadn't even heard Hyperion slamming open the metal doors to the throne room

"Um, milord?" Hyperion asked, partially out of not wanting to disturb his master, despite the necessity of doing so, along with a slight trepidation as to what had prompted the prince's actions. By way of answer, the said prince did…nothing. He was either completely unaware of the astromancer's presence, or was ignoring him completely.

"Milord? Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider?" asked Hyperion, a bit more forcefully. To his relief, he saw the prince stir faintly, his eyelids sliding open, however slowly. Hyperion stepped backward in shock, seeing the prince's pupils, or lack of them. His eyes…they were simply featureless, white void. No pupils, no green glow, simply a nothingness.

Hyperion blinked and saw, to his partial relief, that the prince's eyes were indeed glowing green, did indeed have pupils to them, however faint. Yet a large amount of unease remained; had what he seen been a trick of the light? Or something far more sinister? Although the astromancer felt ashamed at the suspicions that he was beginning to harbour towards the prince, he knew that some of them, what with the dispatch of his forces into the northern Netherstorm, the establishment of the dungeons below the keep, dungeons that would probably never be used, the employment of the barbaric fel orc known as Tartarus and the continued survival of that deluded high elf, Hyperion knew that some of his suspicions were justified.

"Yes?" asked Kael lazily, sounding…detached from the situation. From reality itself.

"Um, milord?" Hyperion began, wondering if Kael'thas was in the right state of health. "It is I, High Astromancer Hyperion, your most loyal-…"

"Yes, I can see who you are!" Kael snapped. "Hyperion Lightwind, High Astromancer of Tempest Keep, not to mention a complete and utter sycophant!" It was ironic that Kael's eyes, while seemingly hollow a moment ago, were now blazing with an acid green fire. "To top it off, you are an individual who is going to tell me why you have interrupted your lord, or get the hell out!"

To his credit (or shame depending on one's point of view), Hyperion's scowl had deepened and was actually valid in regards to social context, his icy green eyes matching the flame in Kael's; "I am here milord," he growled, furious as to how he was being received for simply carrying out his obligations; "to inform you that there has been a breakout."

"Really? How problematic," Kael drawled, seemingly bored by the entire business. Heck, even the green orbs that rotated above his head seemed to be moving slower than usual.

Hyperion cleared his throat, trying to keep his anger in check and succeeding, yet only due to the one whose presence he was in; "Yes milord. The body of one of our guards was found, his neck broken and his blade taken." Hyperion paused for dramatic effect, yet Kael remained impassive; "It was the same guard that was attending to the human and high elf prisoners you've had here the past week."

Kael continued to sit there, seemingly having fallen into lethargy; "And this concerns me…why, exactly?" he asked eventually.

Hyperion stared in shock; "It concerns you, not to mention myself and the rest of us, because with your-…" (Hyperion was about to say "foolish" but managed to choke it back) "decision to send the bulk of our forces to the northern Netherstorm has ensured that Tempest Keep is nearly devoid of soldiers! The prisoners could easily escape!"

Kael laughed; "I think you're overestimating the situation here Hyperion. Two prisoners, one of which belonging to a lower form of creation and another to an extinct philosophy, are hardly going to present much of a threat."

"Milord, surely you're joking," Hyperion said, half pleading as he did so, unable to comprehend what he was hearing, unable to comprehend how the prince could take the situation so calmly. "The elf may not be a fighter but you know what humans are like! They're so desperate to cling to their pitifully short lives that they'll readily fight like the rabid dogs they are if only to-…"

"I think you're overestimating humanity's martial prowess," Kael interrupted, a scowl beginning to form that, while small, threatened to match Hyperion's if the situation continued to fall into decline. Hyperion, overcome with anger and suspicion, saw no reason to prevent such a fall, considering his lord's…well, "strange" was a rather basic word but it described the prince's behaviour adequately.

"Am I?" Hyperion asked softly. "Or are you beginning to fall into the weakness that is pity and compassion?"

"You're straying into dangerous territory, _astromancer_," Kael said icily, notably leaving out the word "high." The exclusion washed over Hyperion;

"You certainly seemed to respect humanity until relatively recently," Hyperion continued. "Offering your services to High Lord Garithos was something that few of us agreed with, what with the Alliance failing us in the Second War and-…"

"I am aware of my mistake in siding with that waste of flesh and bone!" Kael yelled, unpleasant memories of his time in the Dalaran Resistance resurfacing in his mind. "It was an error of judgement and I admit it. Keep in mind though, that-…"

"But come to think of it, there were other indications of such undue respect," Hyperion continued. "For example, you were never very vocal in opposition concerning Vereesa Windrunner's obvious attraction to that human mage."

"Hyperion, you're tempting my-…"

The astromancer wasn't letting down his assault; "And you never explained who this…_Jaina_ was, you know, the individual that Arthas mentioned at Icecrown." Hyperion shuddered mentally at the memories of that dreadful battle but managed to repress them for the most part; "You never elaborated on that little exchange. It's certainly not a usual elf name. If I didn't know better, I'd say that-…"

"If _I _didn't know better, I'd say that you were intent on signing your own death warrant!" Kael yelled, rising to his feet and clutching the Flamestrike, the elven runeblade that had passed down through the Sunstrider dynasty ever since the great Dath'Remar had led the Highborne across the Great Sea from Kalimdor, free from their short sighted, paranoid Kaldorei brethren.

"Am I?" Hyperion asked softly. "Or are you perhaps confusing me with yourself?"

"_What_, do you mean, by that?" asked Kael, his voice laced with venom.

"Sending the bulk of your forces into the northern Netherstorm, bringing that barbaric orc into the citadel, the establishment of dungeons for prisoners that will never be brought here…" Hyperion said aerially. "Hardly inspirational actions. You can't rule in your father's name indefinitely you know."

Kael remained silent, and Hyperion could see that he had struck a nerve. He knew that Kael'thas was, despite the adoration the sin'dorei heaped upon him, at times uneasy about his role as far as leadership was concerned. His father; Anasterian Sunstrider, had been much loved by the elves over whom he had ruled, his death at the hands of the Scourge at the fall of Silvermoon increasing his fame even further.

In contrast was his son, Kael'thas Sunstrider, an elf who had walked the world for less than four centuries, an elf that had never been officially crowned and an individual that seemed more inclined to pursue the mysteries of the arcane rather than engross himself in the ways of politics that all leaders required. True, he had lead his people to salvation, away from genocidal human soldiers, yet it was still known that he was still a subordinate to Illidan; a renegade night elf that, after his defeat at the hands of the Death Knight, Arthas, seemed to be steadily losing his grip on sanity.

The situation was hardly favourable to the young prince and Hyperion could not help but feel a slight degree of sympathy at his lord's circumstances. Yet, no matter how difficult circumstances might have been, that didn't prompt irrational decisions and apathy.

"Are you questioning my actions?" asked Kael'thas eventually, having returned to his impassive tone of voice.

Hyperion knew that he had overstepped the mark of respect early on in the conversation, yet didn't care, wanting answers; "You could say that. I find your recent actions…perplexing, to say the least, what with the dungeons, the orc, the field exercises, not to mention letting that deluded quel'dorei live."

Kael nodded; "You can consider me informed. You are dismissed."

Silence descended upon the throne room. In the back of his mind, Hyperion knew that he had overstepped the mark and would probably pay a price for it, but he cared little; he was determined to get answers, regardless of the cost. And right now, Kael'thas was denying him those answers.

"What about the prisoners?" Hyperion asked, trying to keep the issue as the main subject.

"The guards will handle them," said Kael, sounding tired. Hyperion opened his mouth to object but Kael kept talking; "Still, if you are inclined to, feel free to hunt them down yourself."

Hyperion's scowl remained as it was, having neither increased nor diminished. On the one hand, his ruler was still being too lax about the situation in his mind, and was refusing to give any indication as to why this was the case. On the other, the prince _had_ given him permission to hunt them down personally, which sat well with his mind. Given his prowess, it would only be a matter of time until both prisoners were back in captivity.

"Thank you, milord," said Hyperion stiffly, giving a short, not so elegant bow and walked out, black cloak billowing and the air around him crackling with arcane energy. Kael remained standing impassively until the astromancer exited. Upon such an exit, Kael collapsed back against his throne, feeling utterly exhausted.

"Imbecile," Kael murmured, referring to the astromancer.

Kael knew that Hyperion's passion was potentially both a liability and an asset. Up until recently however, it had remained the latter, thus prompting the blood elf to the rank of High Astromancer of Tempest Keep; basically Kael's second in command.

Yet the emergence of the former had come at the worst possible time. Kael knew that his actions had aroused suspicion in many of his subjects, but few of them had the courage, or possessed enough sense, to not confront him on the matter of his recent actions. Hyperion was an exception to this and while it was inevitable that the elf would confront his master eventually, Kael had hoped that he might have chosen a less inappropriate time.

"_He's not inexpendable though," _Kael thought to himself. _"Powerful, yes. Stability is another matter." _Kael relished the idea the more he thought about it; he could remove Hyperion from his presence and assign him to an area of Outland where his pros would not be diluted by his cons. Finding a replacement wouldn't be that difficult either, considering that Solarian had been showing some promise, not to mention that she was a far more stable individual.

"_He's got a right to be worried though," _Kael admitted to himself. _"Shame that he's worried about the wrong things."_

And with that, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider, ruler of the sin'dorei, returned to what appeared to be meditation, yet was in fact something far deeper, far more meaningful…

Something that involved waiting for the human to act on his behalf…

**A/N**

_-__Yep, another chapter and I STILL haven't got this story out of Tempest Keep and into Outland. Oh well. It's going to be a long ride I guess._

_-__As some of you may have noticed, the actions of the draenei and Sunhawks differ slightly from what is portrayed in the BC quest lines. However, this was intentional, considering that 'Rise of the Horde' pretty much rendered the timeline of those quest lines obsolete._

_Consider the facts; in RotH it's stated that two days pass between the draeni's arrival on Azeroth and their acceptance into the Alliance, courtesy of Jaina Proudmoore herself. Considering that the Exodar was heavily damaged on impact and that they had to deal with the Sunhawks trying to open the Sun Gate (yes, technically it remains open, but I thought it best, for fanon continuity's sake to seal it), I doubt that they would have had the time to reach Theramore in two days._

_Therefore, the only explanation was that Jaina must have been at or near Azuremyst Isle at the same time as the Exodar landed, considering how the two islands are separated by Kalimdor. Perhaps in the new lore she was there with Admiral Odyses? Remember, the draenei would have come into contact with the night elves first who would probably be innately suspicious of them, given their physical similarities to eredar. Humans would be too for that matter, but that both races worship the Holy Light would provide a good middle ground, not to mention that the bulk of their kind both hate orcs, what with the genocide on Draenor and the First and Second Wars. Hating together is fun after all :)_

_Anyway, it's the best explanation I can think of at this point in time and I intend to go by it._

_-Yes, the naaru aiding the draenei in their attack is a personal twist, but it certainly explains why O'ros is in the Exodar when his kind vacated Tempest Keep. E'tara is an OC, one who plays a role in this fic. I actually thought that Mu'ru was in Tempest Keep initially and by the time I realised my error, the naaru's role was already established. Hence, a replacement was born._

_-I've been unable to find any lore concerning astromancers but I'm theorising that they're a branch of mage that draws power from the Great Dark…or something. Anyway, if any of you know otherwise, not to mention some indications as to what spells they can use, it would be appreciated._

_Word._


	7. Fight and Flight

**Denial**

**Chapter 7: Fight and Flight**

It was said, mainly by the individuals who desired a more concrete peace between the Alliance and Horde, that hate was one of the most basic and simple emotions of an individual's psyche, regardless of their species. It was hate of order and life that drove the demons of the Burning Legion to destroy the creatures of the physical universe. It was hatreds both old and new that had the members of the Alliance and Horde constantly pointing their swords and axes at their counterparts, even if they weren't using them. It was hate that…well, anyone could see a pattern emerging here.

To make matters worse, what had once been a 'cold war' of sorts was rapidly thawing, with armed conflict breaking out in Warsong Gulch, Alterac Valley, Arathi Basin and no doubt in many other locations as well. It was here that the sentient creatures of Azeroth could express their most basic of emotions, channelling them against their supposed enemies. There was no sign of this stopping, considering that overcoming hate required effort, as it was such a simple emotion, moving away from it into the complexities of other emotions, namely ones that didn't involve fighting your enemies.

Shahra had heard such sentiments, however few, before, but had never really dwelt on them. While she had a general love of literature, philosophy included, to dwell on such sentiments and express support for them put her at risk of being labelled a traitor, something that, with the current role of the high elves in the Alliance, a role that was small and precarious, was something that she couldn't afford, not only for her own sake, but for those of her brethren as well. It was sometimes natural to assume that the sins of one individual were automatically reflected by those around him. Or her.

It was therefore with some irony that while running through the halls of Tempest Keep, trying to find a human that ten minutes ago she had actually trusted, only to realise the foolishness in such an expression of confidence, that Shahra found herself dwelling on the nature of hate, realising that perhaps it was indeed not as basic as some claimed it to be.

Core to the realisation was that part of the emotion that the quel'dorei was feeling was directed to herself, namely her letting the man's callousness get to her. Of the unpleasant experiences that Shahra had experienced over the last five years, a man saving his own skin which may or may not have been at her expense didn't rank too highly in terms of severity. True, to him she was just a distraction in the escape plan, yet that did not necessarily mean that he was condemning the elf to capture and/or death. Splitting up to escape might well have been the best course of action that they could take.

Also, Shahra realised, it worked well in terms of historical vindication. Quel'thalas may have withdrawn from the Alliance on the grounds that it was due to poor human leadership that the Horde had progressed so far into the northlands, even ravaging the ancient forest kingdom itself, but there were those, Shahra included, who could tell that the withdrawal was due only to the fact that the Alliance had little to offer. With Azeroth ravaged, the issue of what was to become of Alterac and the cost of maintaining the interment camps, Anasterian Sunstrider must have felt that he had little to gain by continuing his commitment. Technically that was true, but honour had clearly been ignored.

"_Why then,_" thought Shahra as she ran along, "_am I letting that bearded prick's actions get to me?"_

It was a valid question, considering that Leo's taking off had left the high elf so stunned that she had spent at least two minutes in the cell standing around, doing nothing. Betrayal had left a bitter taste in her mouth (although the taste had been with her ever since she woke up) but considering that they'd never really formalised any bond of allegiance, did Leo's actions really match the definition of betrayal?

Shahra wasn't sure, but still found herself hating the man for it, almost as much as she hated herself for her lapse of weakness that ensured that Leo had a head start in the escape. Not that it was a race, but Shahra would have preferred being in close proximity to the human, considering that he clearly possessed a significant degree of martial prowess, along with actually being armed. Still, maybe keeping away from the human was in Shahra's interests; anger could make people do violent, irrational things, sometimes even when they were in a less advantageous position.

"_Why am I letting this get to me?" _Shahra asked herself again. _"I've experienced far worse incidents over the five years than what's happened now. Yet I broke down twice within ten minutes!" _

Although the elf's ears were turning red from shame at her lack of resilience to the harsher factors of life, she was able to shake it off; knowledge was a virtue, but survival, at least at this point in time, was higher on the high elf's list of priorities. Therefore, she kept running, hoping to catch up with Leo, if only for protection. The man was hardly a knight in shining armour, but considering that the alternative was to remain in the hellhole that was Tempest Keep, Shahra was willing to bear with what was essentially a corruption of fantasy stories.

Yet there was a flaw in Shahra's plan, namely the assumption that, despite her lingering, she'd be able to keep up with the human, or at least follow a trail of bodies. True, Leo was outnumbered, but assuming that his account of the bulk of Kael's forces leaving had truth to it, which seemed to be the case as Shahra had yet to encounter any living blood elves, he should be able to pave a way to freedom. Unfortunately, she had yet to encounter any dead ones either.

The hallways of Tempest Keep all looked the same; white featureless marble with numerous flickering torches, ensuring that there was an eerie orange tinge to the walls every few feet. Shahra had a choice of passageway roughly twice each minute, with none of her possible choices posing any indication as to whether she was heading in the right direction to exit the citadel, heading deeper into it or simply running around in circles.

"_I never thought I'd reach the stage in my life where I'd desire the presence of an Ironforge dwarf," _Shahra reflected as she reached yet another T junction, no doubt featuring two passages that were exactly the same as the each other, not to mention the…what, sixty plus passages that she'd run down? _"But here it is."_

Leo was probably well out of the keep by now, adding further weight to Shahra's theory that he was nothing more than a dwarf with excessive growth hormones. _"It certainly explains how he's able to find his way around so easily," _Shahra thought. _"Probably an overabundance of growth hormones, or perhaps-…"_

"Ugh…blasted cave dweller…"

The voice was weak, yet laced with hatred. Above all else however, it had been uttered in Thalassian. Instinctively, the high elf rounded the corner to the right, seeing a sight that…well, it was hard for Shahra to say exactly how the sight of a male blood elf guard leaning against the marble wall with an intricately crafted spear nearby, one that was unbloodied which stood in contrast to the slash across the elf's left eye.

Shahra considered her situation; the presence of a wounded guard, not to mention his use of the term "cave dweller", indicated that Leo had passed by here. Still, there could be further junctions up ahead, with no guarantee that Shahra would make the right decisions. Perhaps the guard could provide directions; true, he probably resented the quel'dorei as much as they did the sin'dorei, but he was hardly in a position to provide resistance. Such a fact also spurred Shahra to take the course of action that she did; despite the philosophical differences of the two elf kindreds, that didn't render all notion of compassion obsolete.

"Doral ana'diel?" (_how fare you? )_Shahra asked, running over to the guard and kneeling down in front of him. There was nothing particularly remarkable about his appearance, what with the standard shoulder length golden hair and green eyes typical of blood elves, the only noticeable feature being his tabard, depicting a four pointed sun reminiscent of a compass. A drop of blood was attached to the southernmost point while a ruby eyed hawk gazed eastwards, perched on the northern point.

"Only my pride is seriously wounded," the elf grunted, removing his hand from his eye and placing it on his lower chest, where Leo's blade had no doubt also found its mark. Shahra saw that the retina hadn't been damaged, as he'd probably closed his eye as Leo had brought his blade down. He'd be stuck with a scar for the rest of his life probably, but would suffer no loss of eyesight. And although his breathing was fairly shallow from the slash across his chest, the blood elf wasn't at any major risk of blood loss or oxygen deprivation.

It was odd, but Shahra was genuinely glad at these facts. It was a strange feeling, but the high elf was feeling some kind of kindred spirit with the wounded guard. Exactly why this was the case was a mystery to the high elf-she never considered herself to be a particularly altruistic individual. True, sadism or taking joy in the misery of others weren't emotions that came easily to Shahra, but would such a lack of the latter set of feelings prompt compassion that, in the high elf's mind, was mainly undue?

Yet was this a bad thing? Shahra was no idealist in the philosophical debate between the three elf kindreds and would gladly behold a world where the blood elves simply didn't exist and the night elves reduced in the amount of political influence they had over the Alliance, but knowing that this was unlikely to happen, had simply tried to maintain the 'elf relations' status quo, although wouldn't turn down an opportunity to increase high elf prestige, however few times such an opportunity was presented. Cold indifference was something that the elves of the Alliance maintained towards each other at best, and Shahra saw little reason to change that.

Her actions at Nethergarde had backfired spectacularly after all…

Yet maybe there was indeed hope for improved relations, given how she was able to communicate with this blood elf without slinging insults about him being a "demon loving magic addict with no sense of restraint or dignity." True, such communication was ultimately utilitarian in nature, Shahra gambling on the hope that the blood elf wouldn't identify her as quel'dorei until at least after she found out some information as to how to get out of the bloody keep, but it was still…pleasant to last this long without having the conversation descend into a bout of insult slinging.

"Still, I live to fight another day," the blood elf laughed softly. "Never thought that guard duty would result in…" He trailed off, gazing at his supposed savior, recognition registering on his face in a manner that Shahra didn't like. She like it even less when the blood elf's visage, previously one of maintained humor, became one of natural hatred, the result him being kicking the high elf against the opposite wall.

"What the hell was that for!?" Shahra exclaimed, maintaining her façade while clutching her chest, slightly winded. She knew the answer to the question, but a small part of the delusion that was hope remained within her, prompting her to act ignorant.

"Don't play dumb with me, traitor!" yelled the blood elf, trying to rise but failing. "When I want help from a maggot, and may that day never come, I'll ask for it!"

"Maggot!?" exclaimed Shahra, rising to her feet. "Watch who you're calling names demon lover! I'm not the one who's lying against the wall wounded and barely able to breathe!"

The sense of kin spirit had completely evaporated.

The blood elf glared at her; "My wounds are merely the result of me fighting against an enemy, which is more than I can say for you!" His acid green eyes were blazing icily; "I assume that you wish to leave Tempest Keep?"

"Yes, that is correct," said Shahra stiffly. "I have no desire to linger in this world any longer than necessary." Her face softened a little; "I've seen what I needed to."

"Well forget it," the blood elf spat. "Find your own way back to that corpse of a political faction like the maggot you are, writhe in its belly for all I care."

"Eloquent words," sneered Shahra, all thoughts of obtaining information erased from her mind, filled instead with a burning desire to see this argument through to the end. "I noticed that your people had no compunction against allying with the Horde. Forgotten against the burning of Quel'Thalas's borderlands in the Second War, have you?"

The blood elf laughed softly; "It's funny," he said eventually; "as to how you enter Outland yet remain ignorant of the true situation." He glared at the hated quel'dorei; "I have no idea why Lor'Themar chose to ally with the Horde, but I can at least be safe in the knowledge that it is nothing more than an alliance of convenience."

"That's what an alliance is by definition," said Shahra simply. "It shows nothing more than the fact that your kind has turned its back on everything Quel'thalas once stood for."

"_We _turned our backs!?" the blood elf exclaimed. "Aren't you the little hypocrite."

"What?" Shahra asked.

The hatred between the two elves had reached a new height, enough that any present would have started backing away cautiously. It was a strange feeling for Shahra, that despite this being the third time she'd ever confronted a blood elf, Kael'thas included, she'd never experienced hatred as intense as this before. Still, maybe it was due to the individual encountered in each set of circumstances, in this case, what the high elf considered to be nothing more than an aberration of everything decent.

"The descendents of the Highborne have always been an independent people, proud of our magical birthright," the blood elf snarled. "At least until recently. I can't say that those who cling like rats to a sinking ship have any sense of pride or heritage."

"Oh I see, you resent my people's dependence on the Alliance for protection," said Shahra haughtily, taking care to use "my" rather than "our." "But better that than relying on demons and fel orcs!" she spat, remembering her entry through the Dark Portal, and burying the memories immediately.

"Merely an alliance of kin spirits," said the blood elf simply. "In our glorious past, at our pinnacle, we were allied with demons. Why not do so again to reclaim our rightful place in the world?" He laughed at Shahra's shocked look;

"Our differences aren't as great as you claim, high elf. We both share the same ancestry after all. However, while the sin'dorei honor that ancestry, you deluded wretches rely on lesser creatures to fight your battles for you" He glared at the high elf; "_Your _kind has turned your back on everything our people stood for, not mine."

Shahra remained silent and closed her eyes, leaning against the wall. Eventually she spoke; "I care little for power plays, whether it be Alliance, Horde or Illidari." She opened her eyes, looking at the blood elf; "I understand that you would have little inclination to help me, but keep in mind that all I desire is to return to Azeroth."

"What, you want me to provide directions or something?" asked the blood elf. "Find your own way out, you deluded whore. Send me a letter if you manage to make it back to the corpse that you call home."

"What, Quel'thalas is a corpse?" Shahra asked sarcastically. Despite the fact that, as a scattered race, home was whatever a high elf made it, Shahra at least still considered Quel'thalas home in a sense, even if it was in the hands of the blood elves and therefore Horde territory.

The blood elf was now livid; "Quel'thalas is _not_ your home, and never will be! Your bastard kind is nothing but an offshoot of the elves of Quel'thalas! You vermin are doomed to extinction, with no past, no future, and even if you did, it wouldn't even truly be yours! All that remains for your kind to do is to lick up whatever scraps of magic your masters give you and delude yourselves into thinking that you reside on the moral high ground!"

Shahra once again leaned against the back of the wall, having returned to impassive silence. The blood elf waited impatiently, eager to hear whatever phyric counterargument the female could provide to maintain the façade that the quel'dorei insisted on maintaining. Eventually she opened her eyes. He anticipated something relatively eloquent, seeing that those despicable sky blue eyes were blazing like a frost spell that mages favored. However, his hopes were unfounded, for all the sin'dorei received was three simple words;

"So be it."

And with that, the high elf stormed further down the passageway, not even bothering to pick up the blood elf's spear, not wanting to touch such a tainted weapon.

**XXXX**

Shahra was angry.

It was an interesting and partially ironic feeling that, fifteen minutes ago, the high elf had been reflecting on the nature of hate, how it was perhaps not as clear cut as some claimed, how it was not as base an emotion as the more belligerent members of the Alliance and Horde would have some believe. At this point in time however, the quel'dorei could, despite the rage that was clouding her mind, could see the sentiments for what they truly were;

Bullshit.

The beauty of argument was that the debaters did not have to convince their counterpart that they were right, but merely their audience, or at least in organized and controlled circumstances. Still, organization and control were not always available luxuries, given that they were often part of what civilization brought. Considering that the high elves had lost their civilization five years ago and the blood elves couldn't live up to the definition of such a thing (at least in Shahra's mind), it was perhaps a given that her argument with the blood elf five minutes ago had gone the way it had.

Shahra's pace had slowed to a walk, moving slowly down yet another hallway of Tempest Keep. Given the slow, seemingly calm movement that she was displaying, an observer might have been deluded into thinking that her circumstances weren't dire and that she had peace of mind. Looking closely however, one could have seen that her left fist was clenched as she held her arm stiffly, while she flexed the fingers of her right hand. Her good hand in a sense. The hand that she used whenever wielding a blade or pulling back an arrow.

The hand that she used to deal death with.

"_Was I really at risk in using that spear?" _the high elf wondered as her pace slowed even further. _"It was wielded by a demon loving abomination of course, but surely the end justifies the means in this case."_

"**Does it not always?" **asked a voice, one that sounded strangely familiar, in more ways than one.

Shahra was barely aware of it, instead fantasizing on using the spear that she had left behind and using it in a manner that ensured that a vast quantity of blood, none of it her own, was sprayed against the walls of the keep or located in numerous puddles. She wasn't too particular.

A small part of the high elf's rational mind, or whatever remained of it, told her that she was overreacting, that, while it was natural to be angry after listening to that guard's words, it was nothing to be sent into a blind rage about, especially considering that she was still in what was enemy territory.

"**Is it really?"** the voice asked.

Shahra ignored both the voice and logic, instead reflecting on everything the prat had said. True, conversations with blood elves weren't exactly new to her, but the one five minutes ago stood apart from the other two. Her debate with Kael'thas, even with the physical assault that followed (supposedly, Shahra still hadn't forgotten about the strange lack of bruising), had still followed a degree of philosophical thinking, the result being that it was a controlled conversation.

The one with the guard however, had been nothing but an argument based purely on hatred, sending both debaters over the brink. The rational part of Shahra's mind, constantly diminishing in presence, reminded her that she was still high on adrenaline and that her feelings of rage were nothing more than a by-product. Rationality however, was rarely, if ever appealing, for rationality dictated that it was in Shahra's best interests to keep searching for a way out of the keep and head back to Azeroth to…well, what Azeroth could provide. The thought of playing the role of a sadist, even at the risk of capture, imprisonment and beatings that were either the by-product of the imagination or mysteriously treated for no discernable reason, was far more appealing.

"_Of course, my possibilities aren't __mutually exclusive," _Shahra thought. _"I can head back, take the spear, give that traitor what he deserves, then escape from the keep and…"_ Her train of thought stopped, for it was presented with a route that had only just opened.

"**And do what?" **the voice asked as the quel'dorei leant against the wall, her once sky blue eyes now more akin to the ice of the Frozen Throne, or at least the ice that comes with logic. **"Travel back to Azeroth so you can resume your role of a sycophant?"**

Shahra's conscience had a point; true, Outland, as far as she could tell, was a hellhole, but circumstances in Azeroth were hardly any better, what with being forced to act as a second class citizen and looked down upon as a magic addict, due to whatever fabrications the Alliance's precious new allies were spinning.

"_Still, leaving the keep offers me the chance of vindication," _Shahra thought to herself.

"**Indeed?"**

"_Yes," _thought the high elf, a smile forming on her face that wasn't due to standard joy. _"The human stabbed me in the back, what with leaving me to fend for myself while he escaped. Maybe it's time I returned the favor. Literally." _The smile deepened.

Shahra reflected that this was the first time she had smiled in about a week, ignoring the fact that she had actually found amusement in Leo's company.

"**Of course, the human's death would be only one wrong righted," **the voice reminded the high elf, sounding unusually satisfied. **"I'm sure that many wrongs have been cast upon you and your people over the last five years. Will you wait another five to right them?"**

Shahra barely considered the question, immediately seeing the wisdom in these words-what had she done over the past five years than act as some kind of lapdog to masters that kept her on a short leash? What kind of vindication had she carried out for such wrongs, apart from picking off a few groups of Scourge undead and once a group of forsaken? Heck, perhaps the sin'dorei, what with their zealotry, followed the correct path after all! It was certainly more logical than the one that she'd been following for half a decade.

"_I know now what I must do," _the high elf thought to herself. _"I've lived in the shadows far too long. I think it's time that I-…"_

"_Don't listen to him!" _rasped another voice. Shahra snapped out of her reflection, looking around for the source, barely registering the words.

"Who dares address me?" she asked out aloud, her voice laced with arrogance.

A chuckle resounded throughout Shahra's mind-weary, yet laced with power, or at least the potential for power. "Drained" was probably the best word to describe the voice that Shahra heard, one that was neither male nor female. Other than that, there was little hint as to its source, in that the second voice was clearly external, rather than the first, more powerful voice that Shahra had heard now and on the road from Nethergarde.

"_The work has been done well," _the voice resounded. _"It's a wonder why I'm bothering with you. Still, I suppose all in this universe are worthy of sympathy, albeit to varying extents."_

"_Sympathy?" _snarled Shahra mentally, surprised to not hear the voice of her conscience. _"Is that the only alternative for me to be viewed, a case of either pity or distrust?"_

"_Better than being reviled," _said the genderless voice simply. Shahra remained silent, surprised that she was seemingly unable to provide any counterargument, along with the fact that her conscience had none to offer either. Yet maybe it did, yet couldn't deliver it-despite the external voice's weariness, a weariness that bordered on pain, it still conveyed great power, enough to drown out her own psyche.

There was also a strange calming effect, given that the high elf felt her rage slipping away. Her left hand unclenched, her right no longer yearned for a weapon, her eyes returning to the color of sky rather than ice… It was a feeling of weakness, yet a pleasant one, almost akin to meditation. Shahra welcomed it, considering that mediation had been denied to her for a week.

"_My time grows short," _rasped the voice. _"He comes to deal with me."_

"_He?" _Shahra asked mentally. _"Who's-…"_

"_Listen closely," _the voice interrupted. _"There is much that you do not understand, and I'm hardly in a better position. The only advice I can offer you is to travel south-…"_

"_South!?" _Shahra exclaimed, remembering Leo's words back in the cell. _"But that's the same direction that Leo is headed!"_ She sounded shocked, but her actual level of such shock was rapidly depleting, not to mention her desire to leave the overgrown dwarf in a pool of his own blood.

"_to Hellfire Peninsula," _the voice continued, as if it hadn't noticed Shahra's interruption (a distinct possibility). _"One of my kind will find you. Follow his advice. Trust in his wisdom."_

"_But how do I get out of this citadel?" _the high elf asked helplessly.

"_Travel down this passage. The exit is on the fourth right hand turn."_

The words were so…calming, so serene, that the quel'dorei was inclined to obey them without a moment's hesitation. Still, she managed to resist the impulse; there were rather pressing questions that she had to deal with, not to mention exactly who, or what, was giving her these instructions.

"_How do I know that you speak the truth?"_ Shahra asked eventually. "_Why should I trust you over my sense of self?"_

The being, assuming the source of the voice was an actual being, chuckled; _"If your supposed consciousness is your true self, then you and your kind have no hope whatsoever."_

"_My kind as in what?" _Shahra asked, disliking such comments. _"Elves in general? Quel'dorei? Sin'dorei? What identity are you referring to?"_

The voice didn't answer, either because it would not, or was incapable of doing so. Shahra had no particular indication either way, and didn't particularly care. No proof had been offered to her that this voice spoke the truth, and even if it did, what made its advice appealing? Traveling south to meet some kind of being that she had no idea as to what its gender, name or even species was?

Truly her own instinct was the thing to trust in these circumstances. And she might have given into that inclination immediately if not for the final parting words the being gave her;

"_Your identity is what you make for yourself."_

**XXXX**

Tartarus was angry.

Admittedly, this wasn't a bad, or even new thing. Anger brought power, and such power had been with him ever since he had drunk the blood of Mannaroth. He remembered little of the actual circumstances surrounding this event, nor the events that followed (some attack on a draenei city, Tartarus couldn't give a damn what the vermin had named it). All he cared about was the power and righteous rage that the demon's blood gave him, along with the elation it brought.

His anger now, however, was due to frustration and therefore not the pure rage that he dwelt with. Walking through the halls of Tempest Keep, he had heard from one of the few guards stationed in the citadel that there had been an escape of two prisoners; a human male and high elf female. Upon hearing these words, Tartarus had thrown himself into the glorious rage that came upon him every time conflict presented its grandeur to him, no matter how large and small, gripped his battleaxe tightly and had set off through the hallways of the keep, shouting his war cry. Well, technically not a war cry, considering that it simply featured the fel orc roaring like a mighty demon, but it still served its purpose in intimidating enemies long enough for him to get into close quarters and carve out their innards.

Ten minutes of charging and roaring however, had yielded no results. The fel orc had degraded into detestable silence and his charge had slowed to a swift stride. Like the underhanded vermin that they were, the pinkskins were probably keeping to the shadows, relying on stealth to make their way to freedom rather than martial prowess. But then again, that was expected; to use martial prowess to escape, one actually had to possess it in the first place.

It was such a realization that prevented Tartarus from returning to glorious rage, knowing that even if he did find the two prisoners, he couldn't expect much from them. Past experiences had taught him this, at least in the case of the human; from his memories of the First and Second Wars, not to mention the Alliance invasion of Draenor, the average human foot soldier could last up to around a minute before being gutted by him. Considering that the escaped human had been living as a prisoner for a week with little food or water, not to mention that he was bereft of the plate amour that his kind was so fond of, Tartarus couldn't expect him to last long. Hell, he'd probably end up begging for mercy before the fel orc ended his feeble existence; human peasants and children certainly had.

The elf was more problematic. Tartarus had never actually battled the sylvan warriors face to face, but considering that this was due to the bulk of their forces providing long range support to the Alliance in the Second War with comparatively few being engaged on the frontlines, he had an even lower opinion of their worthiness in glorious close quarters combat. However, given what Kael'thas had told him…

From what Tartarus had heard from the few blood elves that had been inclined to make conversation with him, Tartarus saw high elves as the epitome of weakness, their already fragile natures amplified by their refusal to bolster their strength by sizing power that was there for the taking, instead relying on slightly less weak creatures to fight their battles for them. In short, they were the antithesis to everything that orcs (well, 'real orcs' at least) and existed only to drown in their own blood.

Given these facts, it was a wonder what potential Kael'thas saw in the paleskin…

Tartarus had never really cared which master he served, but he was beginning to question his loyalty to the sin'dorei prince. Tartarus understood the significance in this, considering that it was the first time that he had ever questioned the will of one in a higher position than him. All he expected a leader to deliver was the blood of foes to spill.

As a member of the Bleeding Hollow Clan, Tartarus's first leader in life, Kilrogg Deadeye had satiated Tartarus's thirst for blood in the war against the draenei. Later, and even more glorious, were the First and Second Wars against the Alliance, with the Bleeding Hollow Clan serving with distinction (well, apart from the botched assaults on Stormwind Keep) throughout the entire conflict. However, due to the treachery of Gul'dan and through him, the Stormreaver and Twilight's Hammer Clans, final victory over the Alliance had been denied, the result instead being Horde defeat.

The end result for the Bleeding Hollow Clan was being stranded on Azeroth, wandering throughout the Black Morass, constantly hunted by Alliance forces (including elven rangers, ugh) which, despite their weakness, had the advantage of weight of numbers. Thankfully however, it was mercifully short, the Bleeding Hollow Clan being able to pass back into Draenor through a partially reconstructed portal.

Tartarus, like the bulk of his kind, relished the prospect of carrying out a second invasion of Azeroth, if only to obtain some kind of spell book that would allow the creation of new portals, gateways to worlds that had yet to face the power of the Horde. Of course, such a plan hadn't made for the provision of two unexpected factors; that the Alliance had sent a force intent on killing the orcs or, even worse, place them in their dreaded interment camps (a fate worse than death in Tartarus's mind) and that Ner'zhul's portals were tearing the very fabric of reality around Draenor.

The Bleeding Hollow and Warsong Clans, under the leadership of Kilrogg Deadeye and Grom Hellscream respectively, seeing that Draenor was doomed along with all those that insisted on remaining on the planet, had made a final charge to the portal leading to Azeroth, hoping to escape the inevitable apocalypse. Tartarus never knew if they made it or not, for he had insisted on remaining in Draenor. Returning to Azeroth would simply result in a slow death, either at the hands of pink skinned dogs or due to whatever hell the internment camps provided. There was also the shameful fact that, although sentimentality was weakness, Tartarus still felt a degree of kinship with his homeworld, not wanting to abandon it.

What followed after that was a blur for Tartarus, but from his earliest memory after the cataclysm, he found himself with blood red skin, extra tusks and a position in the army of Magtheridon, a pit lord that had decided to make Draenor, or Outland as it became known, his own personal kingdom, ruling from the Black Temple (or Citadel as he renamed it). Given that, either by coincidence or purpose, the draenei began raiding the pit lord's lands upon his rise to power, Tartarus was happy. Draenei, or the Broken as they were now known, their bodies corrupted by the power of Ner'zhul's portals, were weak, but they still bled, screamed and died like any other living creature.

It had remained like this until half a decade ago, when a force known as the Illidari lay siege to the Black Citadel, their leader, a half demon known as Illidan, intent on usurping Magtheridon's rule. Although Tartarus had fought as hard as any other fel orc in the citadel and relished the prospect of relatively equal combat, especially so since he saw that those damned elves were back in Outland, he couldn't stop the one named Illidan from achieving victory.

It had been a grim time for Tartarus and his kind at this point, with himself and many of his kin assigned to Hellfire Citadel, acting as jailors and manual laborers while the one named Illidan, having returned from an attack on something called the Frozen Throne, ruled from the Black Temple, having decided to revert it back to its old name, if only to distance his rule from that of Magtheridon. Luckily, such a phase of Tartarus's life hadn't lasted too long, for while carrying out his duties he'd been approached by the one who would become his third master, the one who was apparently Illidan's right hand;

Prince Kael'thas.

Tartarus had never met the elf face to face before, but if the blood mage was anything to go by, then perhaps he'd been too hasty in his condemnation of the sylvan warriors as weaklings, given that these elves, blood elves as they called themselves, were willing to size power for their own ends, regardless of its source. True, there were some deluded individuals that still bore the name of high elf that had failed to see the light and continued to descend into weakness, but they were insignificant in the grander scheme of things, given that, either through conversion, death or a diminishing gene pool, they were doomed to extinction.

Tartarus hadn't understood everything that the blood elf had told him, but among what he _did_ understand, was that Kael'thas had recognized Tartarus's martial prowess and exceptional intelligence (well, for an orc at least, given that he could speak both Orcish and Common fluently) and was willing to employ his services, promising that plenty of bloodshed would be involved. Although the fel orc had some suspicions about the prince's motives, given that the alternative was continuing to reside in Hellfire Citadel doing little and not engaging in combat, there was really no question as to what his decision would be.

Upon reflection, Tartarus couldn't imagine what he'd been thinking by accepting the offer. Stationed in the Netherstorm, a region that was firmly under Illidari control, the prospects of bloodshed hadn't improved at all. Kael'thas had often assured Tartarus of his importance in maintaining order, but the fel orc had failed to see it. Few, if any prisoners were brought to Tempest Keep and it was just as likely that they would die of malnutrition than by Tartarus's axe. Resources were scarce in Outland and prisoners were not high on Kael'thas's list of priorities which, at the moment, included a certain female high elf.

Tartarus couldn't understand the blood elf prince's motivation for adding cells to the base of Tempest Keep any more than the fact that it took a week for him to actually try converting the deluded weakling to his line of thinking. Tartarus's frustration was only added to when, just as he was getting started doing what he did best, the prince had stepped in, finally revealing his motives to the fel orc.

As Kael'thas had said, understanding was not a requisite. Understanding had eluded Tartarus for the most part, but from what he _had _understood…well, it seemed like nothing more than a waste of time and effort, no doubt prompted by an inflated ego. The blood mage always seemed to be high on his own sense of importance.

This didn't alter the problematic and irritating fact however, that if by some chance he ran into the elf, Tartarus would have to resist his natural impulses, namely to spray blood and marrow over the walls of the keep.

"_But if I do that, then how do I disadvantage myself?" _the fel orc wondered. _"Even if I fall out of favor with that arrogant blood elf twat, it will make little difference in the long run. I'll still be forced to serve as a jailor. I…"_

Tartarus shook the thought stream away; thinking about something wasn't what orcs (well, 'real orcs' at least) did, instead, they acted. However, such was Tartarus's frustration at this point that he'd stopped moving all together, simply standing in a corridor facing the entrance to the keep.

_The paleskin's probably long gone by now," _Tartarus thought to himself bitterly. _"Even if she still is in the keep, the chances of me finding her are next to nothing."_

It was at this moment that the fel orc saw a female high elf walk in front of him across the T junction of corridors, turn to face the entrance, and start walking out.

Tartarus's first instinct, after blinking a few times, was to pick up his axe and start splattering innards. However, through supreme willpower, he held back. Given what Kael'thas had told him, such a course of action was likely to provoke the prince's ire.

But what if it hadn't worked? What if Kael'thas had failed in what he had set out to do and, by letting the elf go, Tartarus was letting an enemy escape, not to mention yet another weakling in a universe that had too many? What if…

Tartarus began to grin; there was always a third option…

**XXXX**

Shahra knew that she should have been feeling jubilant in exiting Tempest Keep, walking across a white marble bridge to what was essentially freedom. The last week hadn't been pleasant to say the least, and although she bore bruises that no longer existed and _still _had that strange, bitter taste in her mouth, she was free.

Looking out over Outland however, the quel'dorei began to wonder if she wasn't better off back inside the citadel. Flat plains of purple soil stretched for as far as her eyes could see, the earth irradiated with magic. Not that of arcane or even fel magic but…something else. Something unnatural.

The sky provided no refuse either, considering that it consisted of a churning sea of energy, namely the Twisting Nether. The high elf looked up at it in dread; there was no way of telling whether it was night or day, for no natural light came down from the heavens. No caressing silver light of the moon and stars, no golden beams of the sun that Shahra enjoyed meditating in every morning back on Azeroth. All the Twisting Nether cast down on her was a feeling of foreboding, a feeling that her very soul was under scrutiny from beings that were too great and terrible to imagine.

But as horrible as it was, turning back was not an option. The company of blood elves was not something that the quel'dorei desired, not to mention captivity in cells where her only company was violent fel orcs or backstabbing humans. There was also the matter of those voices that had…Shahra shook her head. She didn't want to think about what had been said to her. She was going to head south because north just led to void, head south out of a genuine desire to leave Outland, not because some voice in her head had told her to.

"_So this is what I left Azeroth for…" _the high elf thought to herself as she looked out over the irradiated plains of Outland. _"What the hell was I thinking?"_ As if in response, an unearthly wind began to blow, its chill night was approaching. However, the chill was not only out of temperature, given how it chilled not only her body but her own soul, not to mention that it seemed focused on the back of her neck. Wind that felt and sounded like heavy breathing…

The slowness with which Shahra turned around was matched by the speed at which a giant red, clawed fist shot out, grabbing her around the neck and lifting her off the ground, its owner, a bestial fel orc, showing no hint of exertion.

Strangulation was not a particularly pleasant way to die. With the windpipe blocked, not only does oxygen fail to enter the body, but carbon dioxide can't escape either, thus increasing the acidity of the blood. Such facts were the last thing on Shahra's mind as she struggled to breathe, given that not only were her attempts to gain air failing miserably along with her attempts to prise the fel orc's muscular fist away from her neck, but given how the fel orc, no doubt Tartarus, was looking up at hear with an intensity that was unsettling, fear was the only thing running through the high elf's mind.

Even that emotion evaporated as Shahra's supply of oxygen diminished. With oxygen being cut off to the brain, thought, even the most basic of instincts, was becoming hard to form. Eyes wide from what remained of her burst of fear and the tightening of the retinal muscles due to the constriction of the neck, Shahra's last hope was that she'd lose consciousness before actually dying of oxygen deprivation or whatever else Tartarus had in store for her, considering that he…

Let her go?

With a heavy thud, Shahra landed on the wooden bridge extending from the keep, courtesy of Tartarus having simply dropped her. _That _however, was irrelevant. All that mattered to her, was hyperventilating to breathe in the air that had been denied to her, not to mention holding her neck to not only lessen the pain of Tartarus's claws having dug into her skin, but to speed up the process of obtaining oxygen.

Of course, the relief at actually being able to live, an emotion that stood in stark contrasting to the paralyzing fear that had gripped the high elf, also had something to do with it.

Tartarus however, seemed to have other ideas, given that he was looking down on her with a blank face, albeit one that couldn't hide his distaste of the high elf. Fear once again gripped the high elf; what if this wasn't some inexplicable display of mercy? What if this was only the first part of some kind of warped, sadistic game that the fel orc intended on playing? True, the scars of his assault down in the dungeons had mysteriously disappeared, but the memories were still fresh in Shahra's mind. Kael'thas had intervened, but Shahra saw no hope of such salvation now, given that-…

"The blood that flows through your veins and mine…" the fel orc growled slowly in Common, the menace he conveyed only achievable in such a language. "It is not so different after all…"

"What?" was the word that Shahra would have uttered if she hadn't been gasping for air. However, the question remained; was this some really weird form of torture? Or, even worse, was there actual meaning behind the fel orc's words? The question quickly evaporated as Tartarus squatted down in front of her, his baleful red eyes piercing into Shahra's sky blue ones;

"Nevertheless, you _are_ a potential liability," the fel orc growled. "Kael'thas has made his decision and I shall abide by it. However, should you prove to be a liability…well, let's just say that the chance of my axe dehydrating will be significantly lessened."

And with that, Tartarus turned around, marching back into the citadel, ignoring the high elf that slowly rose to her feet, trembling not only due to the cold, unnatural wind that was blowing. So consumed in resisting his impulses, and such was the effect of Tartarus's words and actions on the high elf, that neither noticed the traveler watching them from a small rise a few hundred meters away, able to make them out despite the distance, having just finished meditation.

Watching with great interest…

Watching with hatred that was fitting of the two races that he beheld…

**A/N**

_At around eight thousand words, this is the longest chapter I've written EVER. It dragged on longer than I intended but I just wanted to get out of that damned keep, thus giving the sense that the plot is moving forward at least geographically. Anyway, there a few lore buffs I want to explain before shutting up;_

_-Botched "assaults" on Stormwind was an intentional use of the plural. True, only one is actually referenced by Blizzard's history, but in 'The Last Guardian', Garona chides an orc on a failed assault, one where they didn't even reach the walls. Considering that this doesn't match the account on the initial orc assault, this could be a canonical error. However, I believe that it's an actual implication that the Horde made many unorganized assaults on Stormwind before Doomhammer led them to victory._

_-There's a degree of narrative theorization on the Black Citadel/Temple name alternation. Anyway, it's pretty much irrelevant, but here's my take;_

_-The orcs take over the Temple of Karabor, renaming it the Black Temple, dedicating it to the worship and use of demonic energy._

_-Magtheridon renames it the Black Citadel, changing the name to herald the start of his own reign. Also, as a base of operations rather than a centre of warlock magic, it's more fitting militarily._

_-Illidan takes over the Black Citadel, reverting it back to the Black Temple, thus distinguishing his own reign from that of Magtheridon. Why he would revert back to Black Temple is a mystery, but in TFC he states that he inherited Gul'dan's memories. Perhaps such memories would prompt him to return the fortress to its original name?_

_Anyway, that's just me. I'm going to go to sleep now. _


	8. Of Honour and Conveniance

**Denial**

**Chapter 8: Of Honour and Convenience**

The quel'dorei, for better or worse, had always possessed a love of knowledge, a love of finding the answers to the infinite questions that presented themselves to them in their lives, taking advantage of their extensive life spans to plum the mysteries of the universe. It was a characteristic that had been possessed from the very beginnings of the Highborne, a characteristic that ultimately resulted in drawing the attention of the Burning Legion to the world, triggering the War of the Ancients. Curiosity could be dangerous to felines, but given that the results of such curiosity resulted in a demonic invasion that resulted in the Sundering; the destruction of most of Kalimdor and the creation of the Malestrom, it had been shown that such dangers could apply to sentient creatures also.

The dangers of such reckless, even childlike interest in the world had been aptly demonstrated in those dark times, dangers that the Highborne seemed reluctant to admit, their stubbornness resulting in their banishment from Kalimdor, sailing across the Great Sea to found their own kingdom where they could wield the forces of the arcane with impunity, the end result being Quel'Thalas, the formation of which prompted the Troll Wars and the destruction leaving a race of pointy eared humanoids who were addicted to magic.

The night elves' entry into the Alliance, although little more than an alliance of convenience (indeed, the number of night elf defections to the Horde were the highest of all the factionalised races), had prompted the exchange of history of both Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms, among which were the actions of the Highborne. It was no coincidence that such an entry had coincided with political upheaval in Theramore, calling for Jaina Proudmoore to remove the high elves in the nation's council, the populace not wanting supposed magic addicts to be in positions of power when their curiosity, no doubt "irresponsible", could bring demons into the city at any moment. After all, there was often a fine line between a mage and warlock.

Yet high elven curiosity did have its benefits, benefits which, in the current political climate, the majority of the Alliance's population had either forgotten about or ignored. After all, hadn't such love of knowledge contributed to what had been regarded as some of the finest literature in the Eastern Kingdoms? Hadn't such knowledge given man the gift of magic, enabling humanity to defend itself against the vicious Amani Trolls? Hadn't high elf military tactics been the basis for much of human military strategy, tactics that contributed greatly to the Alliance's salvation in the Second War, the alternative of which was being slaughtered by demon crazed orcs, vengeful trolls and barbaric ogres?

Apparently not.

Although it was a characteristic looked upon with suspicion, curiosity and love of knowledge was something that many high elves still maintained. True, having your homeland and any surviving lore in the hands of elves that were collectively referred to as "demon whores" didn't exactly make such pursuit of knowledge easy, but humans, dwarves and even gnomes were willing to support such interests. It was no surprise that many high elves found solace in sanctums and libraries; not only could they be safe from any xenophobes but it was in these places that they could seek knowledge simply for the fact that they could. That was what made many high elves stay in the Alliance; although the Horde was perhaps more open minded, it was far more utilitarian.

Of course, the fact that the blood elves had gained entry made a similar move obsolete anyway.

It was perhaps fitting in an ironic and possibly a vindictive way that it was in Outland, homeworld of the orcs, that Shahra found herself seeking knowledge in the utilitarian sense. There were many questions that she wanted answers to, all of which held benefits for her chances of making it back to Azeroth.

The first question that had entered her head upon exiting Tempest Keep was what time of day it was. True, Outland was made up of floating pieces of rock whose cohesion seemingly defied the laws of gravity, but it still rotated, thus allowing day and night to exist. However, the Netherstorm denied the answer to such a question visually, for it existed between the physical universe and the Twisting Nether in a sense, a kind of hole in reality formed due to Ner'zhul's portals. The purple sky, an uncanny reflection of the soil in a sense, blocked out all sight of celestial bodies, whether they be the sun or moon.

Shahra found herself hoping that it was the former. Outland, as far as she could see, was akin to a desert, given that it had no tree cover of any kind. Temperatures were guaranteed to plummet with the onset of night and although they'd likely be sweltering during the day, Shahra was willing to bear with it. If there _was_ a sun god, she'd rather bask in his light than that of the moon; the symbol of Elune, the night elf moon goddess. The high elf knew that it was extremely unlikely that such a deity would smile down on her when the quel'dorei had rejected worship of the moon goddess in order to distance themselves from kaldorei culture. The possibility of vindication for such a transgression wasn't particularly appealing either.

Unfortunately, it did indeed appear that night was settling upon the shattered world, if only for the fact that it was indeed cold, an unearthly wind blowing across the irradiated soil. Subconsciously, Shahra found herself wrapping her arms around herself; while wearing a grey cloth tunic gave her the anonymity that many high elves desired in this day and age, it wasn't very adequate in protecting one from the elements.

"_But then again, I never brought any heavier clothing with me," _Shahra reminded herself, her entry into Outland appearing all the more ludicrous. _"What the hell was I thinking?"_

It was the second time in the last few hours that the high elf had asked herself that question. Once again, she failed to answer it.

Given their extensive life spans, elves were, as a general rule, not an impetuous race and Shahra was no exception to this. Yet upon reflection, her preparation for entry into Outland via the Dark Portal, or rather lack of it, seemed extraordinary. True, entry to the shattered world had not been utilitarian but more of a more…personal need, but even so…

Shahra vividly remembered the moment when she heard the news in Stormwind, news that had led her to purchasing some leather armour and a dagger and heading to Nethergarde, hoping to use the rest of her gold to hire some company for the final stages of the journey to the portal that the Horde had charged through prior to the First War. After that…

Shahra shook her head; reflecting over her past actions wasn't going to do her any good. Her entry into Outland, an entry that lacked proper equipment, knowledge of the land or even a clear, distinct objective, was folly in its most blatant form. Her actions were made all the more bitter by the fact that she'd ended up paying the price for her impetuousness in being captured almost immediately and forced to reside in the bowls of Tempest Keep for a week. Hardly an ideal use of time.

"_Still, I guess it did have __**some **__benefit," _the quel'dorei thought to herself, a small smile forming. _"I guess I now know what it's like to be a human, acting on every whim."_

Yet such actions were very unlike her and she knew it; had what transpired in Stormwind _really _been enough to send her gallivanting off into Outland, an action akin to jumping into a shark infested sea and attempting to swim home? Shahra's smile faded, reflecting on such stupidity; _"I think human society is starting to rub off on me."_

But still…

Night was definitely falling at this point; the sky, although tainted by the Nether, was noticeably darker and the temperature was falling rapidlyIf Shahra had been cold before, she was now freezing. Having lived in Quel'Thalas for most of her life, a land where it was seemingly in a constant state of spring, had left the high elf with an intolerance for temperature extremes.

"_Maybe Tempest Keep isn't so bad after all," _the elf thought to herself, glancing back to where the citadel was. Only darkness greeted her, night's shadow rapidly closing in. Elves, even those not of Elune, had superior eyesight to many of Azeroth's races, but not even Shahra's eyes could pierce the darkness, not even with the blue glow that had been present ever since the Sunwell was destroyed.

In addition to suffering from the symptoms of magic withdrawal, many high elves found that their eyes now had a blue glow, a trait previously reserved only for mages or, in some cases, had become pure white, the pupils hidden. Exactly why this was the case was unknown to them, but they were traits that the majority of high elves disliked; glowing eyes seemed unnatural and eyes lacking pupils of any kind was just plain disturbing.

Shahra was an exception to this rule however, being one of the lucky ones who, while not one of those who showed no outward signs of arcane dependency, had inherited a glow the colour of clearest sky. True, it didn't really help with her people's efforts to hide their dependency on arcane magic, but…well, she just appreciated it, if only for vanity. It also made a useful visual distinction between quel'dorei and sin'dorei, the majority of their estranged kindred having eyes with glows ranging from acidic green to deep emerald, courtesy of the fel magics they relied upon to slake their addiction. It was a distinction that had proven useful in the past.

"_Not completely __infallible though," _thought Shahra bitterly, remembering what had happened in Tempest Keep…

It was such memories that prevented Shahra from giving a second glance back northwards to where the citadel was situated, wanting to distance herself from anything to do with the blood elf infested fortress. She wanted to distance herself from _anything_ to do with the damn citadel.

Yet questions lingered on from the place, questions that Shahra couldn't get out of her mind; why had she seemingly been healed after Tartarus had beaten her to an inch of her life? Why had she been placed in a cell with a human, one who would, in principle, be inclined to co-operate? What was a 'nah-roo', or even a 'dra-nye' for that matter? What was the source of the bitter taste in her mouth, a taste that, although significantly lessened, was still present? What had spoken to her while she was escaping from the citadel? Why had Tartarus let her go when he could have easily let her suffocate, or done much worse? Why-…

"_Why did Leo leave me?" _Shahra asked herself. She blinked a few times, surprised at the fact that she had asked such a question directly, rather than just reflecting on just its existence. It was a fact made even more puzzling in that, unlike the others, there was a likely answer; through a likely combination of self preservation and admittedly understandable distrust, he'd refused to take the risk of letting a potential spy join up with him, or, even if he had indeed believed Shahra's claim, hadn't wanted to be slowed down.

Rationality could only go so far however, and Shahra found herself continually reflecting over the question, the only question that the events in Tempest Keep had presented where a logical answer could be found. Perhaps it was because of the fact that the high elf had broken down twice in the man's presence, something that past experience should have prevented. Perhaps it was the fact that such reflection made a useful distraction from the night's chill. Perhaps it was due to another reason, one that didn't stem from rationality…

Or perhaps it was due to the fact that Shahra stood a chance of obtaining the actual answers, considering that, in the darkness up ahead, a humanoid figure could be seen leaning against a rock…

**XXXX**

Elladan Sunstorm was a wounded individual, and not only in the physical sense. For every scar on his body, there was a gaping wound where the blood of pride was seeping out. Perhaps it could be said that he was wounded emotionally also, but then again, so were most of the sin'dorei on Outland. The former orc homeworld was not the magical paradise that Lord Illidan had promised it would be, not to mention that barren soil and demon infested plains were a far-cry from Quel'Thalas.

By necessity, the blood elves under Kael'thas's leadership had repressed any yearning for their home, being content in knowing that it was in the hands of those who had stayed behind on Azeroth. Pride however, was something that couldn't be done away with so easily, and Elladan was no exception. True, it was part of what made him elven, but was also a potential hazard for self esteem.

Such a hazard hade made manifest after the Battle of Bloodmyst Isle, a battle which had not only ensured the draenei's place in Azeroth, but also their alliance with the humans of Theramore and the night elves, an alliance that would probably be extended to the dwarves and gnomes as well. It was also in this battle that the Sunhawks had met their final defeat, doomed to either die or surrender. By the end of it, many blood elves had chosen the former.

Over two days of closely fought battles, battles in which Elladan had fought as hard as any upstanding sin'dorei, the Sunhawks had come close to opening the Sun Gate, a portal to Tempest Keep where they could receive Illidari reinforcements, crushing the blue skinned mongrels that had stolen one of the keep's satellite structures, taking such a structure back to Outland and feeding the Light worshipers' bodies to fel hounds. Under the leadership of Matis the Cruel, Elladan, with the rank of 2nd lieutenant had liked the plan; simple, easy to remember and bound to end in glorious bloodshed, most of it coming from the draenei.

Fate could be a bitch sometimes, given that if not for the humans and night elves deciding to lend the draenei their aid, the Sun Gate would have almost certainly been opened. Well, technically it had been opened, but only long enough for the blood elf survivors to head back to Outland, the Alliance stripping them of their pride by allowing them to live.

Elladan had gone through, but only in the knowledge that there would come a time where he could exert his revenge on every one of those that had humiliated him, ranging from that frail draenei prophet to the female human mage that had seemingly been the leader of the Alliance forces. Vengeance could take time, considering that Illidari rule had yet to be fully solidified, but Elladan had been willing to wait. It was one of the many advantages of a near immortal lifespan.

Unfortunately, fate had plenty of more crap to throw at the blood elf, said faeces hitting him only a few hours ago. While patrolling the halls of Tempest Keep, fuming at the fact that he'd been left behind to guard the citadel while the majority of Kael'thas's forces had fun in the Netherstorm, he'd beheld a surprising sight; a male human, possibly a prisoner, was running down the hallway, wielding an elven shortsword. Exactly what a human was doing in Tempest Keep was a mystery to Elladan, but he didn't bother dwelling on the subject; he was just glad that he'd been presented with the opportunity to take some vengeance earlier than anticipated. Raising his spear, he'd prepared to meet the cave dweller head on.

The result was a scar that ran over his left eye and a slash across his chest, splattering his tabard that bore the emblem of the Sunhawks with his own blood rather than that of his enemies. To top it off, the human had demonstrated his race's sadism and had simply kept running without looking back, content to leave the blood elf dwell in his own shame rather than give him an honourable death in battle.

And has for that high elf…Elladan didn't want to go there. Too humiliating.

Given all that had transpired in recent times, and his own inability to deal with them in the appropriate manner, Elladan had no reason to think that he'd been ordered to wait in Kael'thas's throne room to receive a promotion. Given his most recent failure of preventing the human and high elf from escaping, he'd be lucky to even retain his position as a commissioned officer.

Still, there _was_ a silver lining to the situation, given that Elladan didn't seem to be the only one about to receive punishment, given that High Astromancer Hyperion was also present, along with that disgusting fel orc. Elladan had never approved of their presence in Tempest Keep; Hyperion had little respect for authority and struck Elladan as a bit of a psychopath, or at least an individual that constantly walked the line of brilliance and insanity. Elladan had no doubt that a day would come when he crossed over to the latter, pissing on the line as he did so.

Still, for all the astromancer's faults, he was at least a capable individual, which was more than he could say for the red skinned, axe wielding savage that was also present in the chamber that Kael'thas had taken for himself. Elladan, like virtually everyone in the citadel, resented the orc's presence; not only was there the very real danger that he would use his axe against the wrong person, but the fact remained that he was indeed an orc, and therefore a creature of inferior creation, even further down the universal hierarchy than humans. True, he was reasonably intelligent for one of his kind, able to speak Orcish, Thalassian and Common with acceptable fluency, not to mention using words of more than one syllable, but such facts were mere drops of sanity in a bucket of creation's excretement.

So therefore, Elladan felt slightly at ease, knowing that whatever the Sunstrider prince was going to throw at him was presumably going to be shared by those also present. Still, that didn't stop his heart from trying to jump out of his mouth as the doors opened a second later, the ruler of the sin'dorei walking through in all his glory. Sweat starting to break out across Elladan's brow, the lieutenant tried to maintain his composure.

"Sorry I'm late," Kael'thas murmured, looking and sounding surprisingly…well, not exactly good natured, but he certainly wasn't looking like flame's harbinger either. Overall, the prince was…neutral.

"What took you?" asked Hyperion simply, either not appreciating the situation the same way that Elladan did, or he simply didn't care.

Kael'thas glared at him; "It is exactly that snide, insubordinate attitude that leaves your status hanging by a thread, _astromancer_…" he growled, gripping the rune blade that was sheathed at his side. Elladan gulped, realising that it was the Flamestrike; the sword that was a heirloom of the Sunstrider dynasty. Had the prince brought the blade with him to use it?

Perhaps not, considering that the prince suddenly appeared more at ease; "But to answer your question, I had some matters to attend to with our naaru friend."

"E'tara?" Hyperion asked, an eyebrow raising at the mention of the female naaru (not that you could really tell with those forsaken Light spawned beings) imprisoned in Tempest Keep, the counterpart of M'uru in a sense, who was imprisoned in Silvermoon back on Azeroth.

"Who else?" asked Kael'thas irritably, seemingly frustrated not only at Hyperion's impertinence but the fact that the naaru had drawn his attention in the first place. Elladan raised an eyebrow; what could the naaru have done to warrant the prince's attention and irritation, considering that, bound via magical energy, its only purpose to supply Light energies to those who wished to follow the path of a blood knight or priest, there was precious little it _could _do? Still, he had enough sense not to ask.

Hyperion didn't.

"What happened?" the astromancer asked.

"Nothing that concerns you."

Hyperion's eyes flared, arcane energy crackling around him; "Kael'thas, as your one of your chief commanders, high astromancer and-…"

"Your rank doesn't make you infallible, Hyperion…" Kael whispered, his voice laced with menace.

"Nor does your ego."

The silence that descended upon the chamber was deafening, time itself seemingly slowing down. All present seemed aware of this, with Elladan clutching his spear tightly and Tartarus looking between the two magic users warily, the two magic users that were engaged in what could have been mistaken for a staring contest, if not for the fact that the air around them was crackling with arcane energy. Heck, even the three green orbs that usually hovered around the sin'dorei prince had slowed down.

"Elladan, come here," said Kael'thas eventually, not taking his eyes off Hyperion. With a small gulp and extreme willpower, the Sunhawk obeyed, still clutching his spear as if his life depended on it, which could turn out to be the case.

"This is for you," said Kael'thas, taking out a small gold band with a red drop of blood on the side; the sign of a blood elf first lieutenant.

"A promotion?" Elladan asked.

Kael nodded, turning to face the Sunhawk; "Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"

"I…well…" Elladan trailed off, two sets of emotions coming into play. The first set was jubilation, his new promotion pushing him to celebrate by getting high off a batch of arcane crystals. The other set stemmed from a sense of dignity, along with a degree of suspicion; this could all be a test of his self restraint, and besides, hadn't his last notable action being his failure to apprehend the human and high elf prisoners, the action before that being the Sunhawks' failure on Azuremyst Isle?

"Why are you giving this to me?" Elladan asked. "I failed you didn't I?"

Kael shrugged; "Perhaps. Still, you've been with us from the beginning." He smiled faintly; "you've always had a tendency to move along rather than upwards."

"But-…"

"True, you failed me recently and yes, the Sunhawks failed to perform as expected against those blue skinned mongrels," Kael said, a flicker of hatred registering in his features as he mentioned the draenei. "Still, you fought well in both Dalaran and when we arrived in Outland. You deserve a modicum of credit for that."

Elladan nodded, remembering the breakout that Kael'thas had led in the dungeons of Dalaran after the naga, Lady Vashj, had freed him. Moving quickly, Kael'thas had ordered his nearby commanders who had been placed in a single cell, ordering them to fan out and free the rest of their kin. Elladan had been among them, serving "exceptionally" as Kael'thas had called it. Elladan wasn't so sure about that, but at least he'd kept focussed on the task at hand rather than Matis, who earned his nickname "the Cruel" on that day. Elladan wasn't too sure of the details, but from what he'd heard, Matis had gone on a tangent, slaughtering a group of human women and children who'd taken shelter in the dungeons after fleeing the northlands.

No great loss.

Elladan saluted, seeing no reason to contradict his prince's words; "Thank you commander. Anu belore dela'na." (_The sun guides us_)

Kael'thas nodded; "Al diel shala (_safe travels)_ lieutenant. Dismissed."

Hyperion smirked as Elladan walked out; "How diplomatic of you."

"Don't underestimate diplomacy Hyperion," Kael'thas murmured, turning back to face the astromancer.

"Indeed? And why's that?"

"Because it's diplomacy that's preventing me from reducing you to a pile of cinders," Kael'thas snarled, resuming the staring contest.

Hyperion raised an eyebrow; "Isn't that a bit much?"

"Hardly."

Hyperion seemed taken aback so Kael'thas pressed his advantage; "Hyperion, you've always been problematic and irrational. You have no respect for the chain of command-…"

"I reported the breakout to you!" Hyperion shouted.

"-, are impulsive and in recent times, been bordering on psychopathic behaviour," Kael said, ignoring the astromancer's outburst.

"I…" Hyperion trailed off, this form of assault completely alien to him. It was heated debates and magical duels that he excelled at, not this calm, diplomatic approach. Still, it was to be expected in a sense; Kael'thas may have preferred books and magic to politics before Silvermoon's fall (indeed, he spent quite a deal of time in Dalaran for some reason…), but the skills of the court had not been completely lost on him.

"Still, you _have _served me well," Kael continued; "which is why, in light of your recent insubordination, I'm going to assign you to Fort Elron."

"What!?" Hyperion exclaimed.

"You would prefer being fed to the felhounds? A toy of a succubus perhaps?" Kael asked, a small grin showing on his features. "Such options are open of course."

Hyperion seemed to have trouble forming words; "You…you're sending me to…that place?" he asked. "What's wrong with you!?"

"What's wrong with _me_?" Kael asked incredulously. "I see an opportunity to get rid of an irrational maniac and simultaneously ensure that Astaroth remembers where his loyalties lie. There's _nothing _wrong with me."

Hyperion had begun to resemble Elladan, in that his features had turned pale. He was not a coward, far from it. He'd been at his ruler's side since Dalaran, fighting against the demons of the Black Citadel and even taking part in the final battle at Icecrown, which had cost all those involved dearly, even the victorious Scourge. It was in such a battle that Hyperion had lost some his hair, courtesy of some stray magic from a necromancer. He'd hated it at first, but such an intimidating appearance had proved its worth.

But assigned to Fort Elron? For Hyperion, this was too much. True, his faith in Kael'thas had been diminishing steadily ever since that dark battle, when the prince had engaged in battle and conversation with his death knight counterpart and someone named "Jaina" being brought up (that was _not_ an elf name and Hyperion knew it), but had such a loss of faith been mutual to Kael'thas also?

Rage began creeping into Hyperion, more so than anything he'd felt in…well, the last few hours. How dare he? How dare Kael'thas send him to that hellhole when all he'd done was expressed his concerns about the escaping prisoners, had displayed so-called "insubordination?" It was all too much. But what could he do? Kael'thas was ruler of the sin'dorei and Illidan's right hand. In the greater scheme of Illidari politics, Hyperion was an irrelevance.

"You know what?" Hyperion asked eventually. "I fucking hate you."

"Duly noted," murmured Kael'thas. "But at least you won't be alone in this."

"Huh?"

"Tartarus is going with you."

"**WHAT!?"**

Hyperion turned to the fel orc, the brute's grin matching that of the blood mage. Not liking such an image, Hyperion swiftly turned back to his leader that seemed to be losing his sanity;

"You're sending Tartarus with me!? Are you insane!?"

"Come now, that's a bit much," chuckled Kael'thas. "After all, I'm following your suggestions, you know, to remove Tartarus before his stench permanently corrupted the citadel."

Swallowing the bile that had somehow made its way up his throat, Hyperion turned to Tartarus, who was somehow managing to smile and glare simultaneously, the glare being due to such comments, the smile being due to having a reason to use his axe against a certain blood elf…

Hyperion turned back to Kael'thas, this time his eyes radiating with desperation rather than menace; "You can't do this to me," he whispered. "I won't last a week among those…things."

"It's a distinct possibility," Kael shrugged.

"But-…"

"Move," said the sin'dorei prince. _"Now."_

Silently, Hyperion followed out, with Tartarus following him, the fel orc in high spirits and the blood elf on the opposite end of the spectrum. Kael'thas watched both of them leave, his face impassive. The stare was only interrupted by a voice that came from behind;

"You're taking quite a risk you know."

Kael turned around calmly, indicating that he was not in the least bit surprised to hear such a voice, any more then he was surprised to see Astromancer Solarian reveal herself, cancelling the cloaking spell that she'd cast upon herself.

"I think you're overreacting Solarian," said Kael'thas calmly. "Either Hyperion brings Astaroth in line or he gets to burn in hellfire. Either way, I win."

"I wasn't referring to that."

Kael'thas raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly; "Keep yourself in line astromancer. I _did _remove Hyperion for a reason you know."

Solarian bowed slightly; "My apologies, my lord."

Kael'thas remained impassive, though was giving Solarian his silent approval; it was this kind of controlled attitude, so much different from Hyperion's fiery and often arrogant streak, that had prompted the sin'dorei prince to give Solarian the rank of High Astromancer, wanting someone that he could control more easily, or even technically control at all.

Not that Solarian was without her share of abilities, Kael'thas recalled, casting his eyes over the astromancer that, with black plate armour of various thickness covering her whole body (albeit with a gold trim) and a spiked helm with similar protrusions attached to her armoured shoulders, she looked more like a warlock than anything else. Indeed, every time when Kael'thas saw her, he half expected a succubus or infernal to jump out of the shadows.

Solarian's truly distinguishing feature however, was her actual body; the fact that it both physically and biologically resembled that of a void walker; a type of demon created from the very essence of the Twisting Nether. With a dark blue gaseous body and two baleful white eyes, it was no wonder that Solarian preferred to remain in her armour.

The circumstances surrounding Solarian's transformation were extraordinary; formerly one of those who had tended the Sunwell, Solarian had witnessed Dar'khan Drathir's treachery firsthand, seen not only the resurrection of the necromancer Kel'thuzad, but the most twisted display of megalomania that the Eastern Kingdoms had ever experienced, namely Dar'khan's efforts to take the Sunwell's power for himself. She and dozens of fellow mages had combined their efforts to stop him.

The results were quite spectacular.

With the Sunwell's power not only corrupted by Kel'thuzad's foul soul but also by Dar'khan's reckless use of magic, the Sunwell had imploded, its energy tearing through Silvermoon and indeed, all of Quel'thalas, turning the once verdant kingdom into a wasteland, the Dead Scar a reminder of the destruction that would last for an eternity.

Yet Solarian had survived the experience, although with her body so infused with magic that she resembled a void walker, "survived" was perhaps too favourable a word. Still, scrounging up what armour she could, she joined Kael'thas's group, using her arcane powers to aid in the conquest of Outland. With respect for authority and impressive magical prowess, the decision to replace Hyperion had been brewing in Kael'thas's mind for some time.

Not to mention informing her of what he had started a week ago, showing her, along with a select group of individuals, that the dungeons under Tempest Keep weren't really dungeons at all…

"Still," said Solarian, drawing Kael'thas out of his reflection. "You can't say that everything has proceeded as you intended, can you?"

Kael'thas sighed; an impertinent question perhaps, but it indeed had merit. Given how Elladan had unknowingly played his role as ordained, the insignificant worm's promotion being out of recognition for this, not to mention what had followed afterwards, Kael'thas had expected the high elf to come crawling back to him long ago.

"Perhaps," murmured Kael eventually. "Still, I couldn't count on E'tara's interference, could I?"

The astromancer remained silent, although Kael'thas could see that the very mention of the naaru rankled her. Still, that was hardly surprising; Solarian was a loyal follower of sin'dorei ideology, and as such, despised the Light and all those associated it (apart from blood knights of course).

"Perhaps not," Solarian agreed. "But that doesn't change the fact that the deluded worm is beyond Tempest Keep." Kael remained silent so Solarian continued; "What are your orders, my prince? Shall we send dragonhawk riders out?"

Kael'thas remained silent, pondering the question; dragonhawk riders could indeed find Shahra (no, high elf, he couldn't afford to use a name at this point) relatively easily, but then again, that would be a show of force, something that could jeopardise his aims. On the other hand, if he simply let her go…would the deluded bitch play to his expectations, or simply walk down a path of self destruction or, given how barren the Netherstorm was, starvation? Then again, perhaps-…

Kael'thas's train of thought screeched to a halt, a small smile forming. There was one more card that he could play, or more accurately, be played for him. His 'ace in the hole' as it was. The ace that he had played at the start of the game…

"Let her go," Kael said. "The human will do our work for us."

**XXXX**

Darkness.

It was what had descended over Outland, aptly reflecting its spiritual state. Overrun by demons and those they had corrupted, it was yet another bastion of depravity in a universe that had too many.

Yet there was indeed some light to be found on this world, the traveller being an example. Walking across the Netherstorm, after viewing that odd display between the elf and the orc, he had watched both head in their respective directions. Not sure what to make of the situation, he had waited, intent on viewing what other abominations that might emanate from the citadel. None came however, and with the blood elf army returning, he had turned his sights back to his task.

With his superior eyesight, it was rather easy, simply employing the tracking skills that he had learnt from his brother, utilising them to trace the human's footprints. The footprints of whom was presumably Leonard Ragoa.

His target in a sense.

**XXXX**

"He who hesitates is lost."

It was a proverb that Leo not only liked the sound of, but had put it into practice numerous times, the most recent being in Tempest Keep. Such philosophy had enabled him to keep running through the citadel, never stopping and ensuring that he was one step ahead of whatever blood elf guards were still present.

Still, the proverb had more than utilitarian value, in that it had enough metaphysical quality to engage in reflection, which was what Leo, currently sitting on the irradiated ground of the Netherstorm, doing his best to light a fire, was doing, using it as a distraction to remove him of the irritation at his inability to light said fire and act as a mental barrier between the cold temperatures of Outland, the result of not only loss of heat from the earth but from the howling wind that was blowing over the wasteland, seemingly originating from the Nether itself.

Yet reflection of such a statement always led him back to Tempest Keep, which led in turn to what he had done there, how he had simply abandoned a fellow humanoid to act as a distraction while he escaped. Of course, there was no guarantee that she would have tried to escape too, instead remaining in her cell and playing it safe, not choosing to make an attempt that would almost certainly fail and end up in the sacred progression where one bleeds, screams and dies; usually, but not always in that order.

Of course, such guilt was based on the assumption that Shahra was indeed a high elf and not some blood elf spy, tasked with playing the role of "innocent and traumatised damsel in distress" in order for him to allow her to escape with him, worm her way into his confidence, find out what she wanted and then stab him in the back.

Leo didn't find that too unlikely a course of action; the only real evidence that Shahra had presented was the eye glow, something that, as far as he knew, could easily be faked, at least based on the number of blood elf spies that set about infiltrating Alliance territories, finding out what they needed and draining a few mages of their magic while they were at it. And after all, the elf had seemingly been caught off guard when asked why she was in Outland, coming up with a pisswater excuse that she'd entered because of "curiosity". Leo snorted mentally; obviously a question that she hadn't prepared for.

But what if Shahra hadn't been a spy? What if she really _was_ a high elf, an individual that chose to adhere to the tenants of a dying culture instead of taking the easy way out? The girl hadn't struck Leo as the most resilient type, but then again, the conflict between the two kindreds was on a philosophical rather than physical basis.

Not that that would have been the case in Tempest Keep however.

Leo grimaced mentally, turning his attention back to the task of lighting a fire with the few rocks he had, hoping beyond hope that it could exist without wood. Much to his discomfort, it was the second option that was eating away at him, making him reflect how he had simply used the elf to his advantage. It was a cruel, callous thing to do and he felt sickened at it.

Of course, even if she was a high elf, history was on his side when it came to the excuse of vindication. After all, the elves of Quel'Thalas had taken advantage of humanity and the Alliance as a whole in the Second War, abandoning it as soon as it had nothing to offer. Never mind the fact that it was humanity that had taken the lion's share of the casualties. Never mind the fact that thousands of good men had died to prevent Azeroth's sons and daughters from drowning in their own blood. Never mind the fact that it had been Sir Anduin Lothar, regarded as one of the greatest human warriors of all time, who had led the Alliance to victory.

Leo grimaced upon such reflection; history could make a convenient excuse for his actions, but it was inherently flawed in that he was using it to punish an individual for the actions of her leaders. Shahra hadn't struck him as the political type, having little to no concept of diplomacy as far as he could tell, so the chances of her being involved in Silvermoon's decision making regarding the Thalassian secession from the Alliance were extremely remote.

Of course, he could have fallen back on personal vindication, but Leo didn't want to go there. Shahra had nothing to do with that. Indeed, he never wanted to think about _that _again.

"_What have I done?" _he wondered, having subconsciously come to the conclusion that he had indeed abandoned a high elf to whatever her former kin intended. _"What kind of person does this make me?" _He continued to scrape away with the rocks, not out of a desire to light a fire (having given up long ago), but simply because it was a distraction, however small, from letting him suffocate in his guilt, from letting him-…

"Obviously your fire-making skills have become watered down over the generations, cave dweller."

Leo spun around immediately to the source of the voice, his hand straying to the hilt of the elven shortsword that he had taken from one of the guards he confronted. He subconsciously registered that the tone was odd, a half hearted attempt to sneer, yet failing to do so. Given the source however, that was hardly surprising…

Shahra.

Admittedly it was hard to make out the figure entirely, but of what Leo could make out, it was his former cellmate; hair in a ponytail, a grey tunic, the shivering that he'd expect given the wind, the glowing sky blue eyes-…

A glow that could be nothing more than a façade.

It was a strange combination of reactions that Leo experienced, a combination of relief and wariness. Relief in that Shahra was still alive and he could live with himself, wariness in that her continued existence could have been due to the fact that there was no real danger in the first place, that she was attempting to track him and/or extract information.

"Good to see you too donkey ears," said Leo eventually, his tone distinctly neutral. "I see that you managed to escape."

"No thanks to you," said Shahra simply.

"Hey, give me some credit," said Leo, trying to maintain a degree of humour yet failing miserably. "I did clear the way for you."

"Only for your own purposes."

A silence descended over the two, seemingly drowning out even the howling wind. It was an interesting paradox of their time in Tempest Keep, in that Shahra's resolve was strong, or at least appeared so, while Leo's was steadily eroding. As such, he was the one who broke first;

"Alright, fine!" he shouted, rising to his feet. "What I did was wrong! I shouldn't have used you like that! I should have shown you more respect! I should have-…" he trailed off. "Well, suffice to say that there were many things that I should have done, but I didn't." His face became softer; "I'm sorry."

Shahra nodded; "I understand. You did what you had to do." With that she fell silent, trying to maintain a degree of composure, yet failing to do so due to all the shivering. Not that Leo wasn't doing the same thing, just less so. Unlike the elf, he'd experienced passage of the seasons.

Yet Shahra's inaction unnerved him; this wasn't like Tempest Keep, where she'd broken down twice within a few minutes. Damit, was she just going to stand there? Leo wished she'd do something, anything, whether it be a) break down, b) start shouting at him, c) attack him physically or d) all of the above. It was the third option that part of his mind liked the most, pointing out that he could get rid of a source of guilt and justify it by claiming it was self defence. He quickly shook the thought away; that wouldn't be self defence. That would be murder.

Unfortunately, Shahra wasn't following any of the options.

"Alright, why are you here?" Leo asked, breaking the silence. "What I did was wrong, so it doesn't make any sense that you're following me. Why-…"

"I need your help."

Leo raised an eyebrow; "What?"

Shahra sighed, part of her composure, or what counted for it, dissipating; "Look, you know as well as I do that I won't last a day by myself. I'm completely unarmed, have no food, no water, and no understanding of the planet's geography."

Leo saw where this was going; "And you think I can be your knight in shining armour?"

Shahra smiled faintly; "You could say that. Still, you made it clear back in the cell that you know far more about Outland then I do, not to mention that you have significant martial prowess."

Leo smirked; "It comes with the territory." The smirk quickly dissipated though, and Shahra could see why, could see how the human's moral centre and consciousness were coming into play.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Leo asked eventually, expressing the most obvious yet pressing question of the situation he found himself in. "How do I know that you're not a spy?"

"You don't," said Shahra simply, yet wondering about the use of the word "spy." It was a bit…professional. She shrugged it off, instead turning her attention back to Leo, waiting for his decision. Finally, he spoke;

"Alright," he said slowly. "Under the assumption that you truly do want to get back to Azeroth, under the assumption that you truly are a high elf and have a good reason for not telling me why you came to Outland in the first place, I'll let you tag along."

Shahra made a motion that implied she was about to thank Leo both physically and verbally, but the human cut her off, his visage for narrow; "However, you have to follow a set of rules. You will do exactly what I say, exactly when I say it. You won't do anything that contradicts this. Finally, you will keep in mind that at any time I help you, or in the rare case of it being the other way round, it is nothing more than an alliance of convenience."

It was a convincing display, so much so that Shahra had difficulty in telling whether it stemmed from genuine suspicion or simply the front for an assertion of authority. What she _was _sure of however, was that, just like in Tempest Keep, simple acceptance of these terms could be taken as a sign of desperation, a sign of her having ulterior motives.

"An alliance of convenience?" Shahra asked. "Isn't that what an alliance is by definition?"

Leo shrugged; "Not necessarily. Alliances can be based on honour, like how Ironforge pledged its support to the Alliance after its liberation in the Second War, or the tauren declaring a debt of honour after saving them from the centaur."

Shahra snorted at the second example; "Right, like those brutes would understand the concept of honour. I…" She trailed off, seeing how Leo's visage had narrowed even further;

"You know," he said slowly. "For someone who whines about suffering from prejudice, you seem to have your fair share of it."

"Prejudice?" Shahra asked. "I'm simply…" Once again she trailed off, realising that a continuation of such a line of thought was akin to digging her own grave.

But why would such thoughts do this? Given the current political climate on Azeroth, prejudice was pretty much a given for both sides, given how history was against friendship. Shahra was no exception when it came to quel'dorei relations with the Horde, a coalition of orcs who had killed them and burnt their forests, tauren who despised them as corrupt magic addicts, undead who were probably little different from the Scourge and trolls who, if their Amani cousins were anything to go by, probably wanted to carry out campaigns of terror for the 'crime' of establishing civilisation.

As for the blood elves…well, that was self explanatory.

Prejudice would come from the other side to, and with good reason. Still, the issue was rarely on Shahra's mind. When, no, _if_ high elves came to be trusted and respected, then she could set about worsening or patching up the situation. Until that day came however, she, like the majority of those of the factionalised races, was content to embrace prejudice.

So why would Leo be any different?

"What's it to you anyway?" Shahra asked. "Why should it matter if-…"

"It matters," Leo snarled, causing Shahra to recoil; "because such thoughts could easily turn out to be a liability."

Shahra wanted to ask how, but given the look on Leo's face, she decided against it.

"Ah, don't listen to me," said the human eventually, taking on a relaxed, yet tired murmur. "I'm just a grumpy old man."

"Old man?" Shahra asked. "How does that work? How…how old are you?"

"Forty-four," he answered simply. "Mid aged. Old. Grumpy."

Shahra smiled faintly, deciding to size upon the admission; "You definitely look the part."

"Better that then be a little squirt," Leo answered. "What about you?"

"One hundred and eleven."

"One year into adulthood then," murmured Leo, his noncommittal nature hiding his thoughts; _"One hundred and eleven? By the Light, a few decades younger and-…"_

Well, suffice to say, the chances that the elf would be standing her right now were drastically reduced. From what Leo understood of the high elven dependency on magic, withdrawal could only turn out to be fatal for the very young or very old. Considering that "young" for a high elf would be a century or less of age, Shahra must have only just made the cut off.

It was strangely relieving.

"Look, the night isn't young," said Leo eventually. "We have to cover as much ground from Tempest Keep as possible." He gestured to the rock; "You should get to sleep."

Shahra raised an eyebrow; "No offence, but shouldn't I take watch? You know, better eyesight?"

"And get stabbed in my sleep?" asked Leo, tapping the shortsword. "No thanks."

Shahra couldn't tell whether he was being serious or not, but decided not to ask. Nodding, she lay down against the rock, immediately regretting it; the lump of stone had lost virtually all of its heat and the soil even more so. With the wind picking up, the absence of a fire and a lack of experience with temperatures other than what summer provided, the end result was uncontrollable shivering.

It was what prompted Leo to sit down next to Shahra, putting his body against her own.

"Um, Leo?" Shahra asked, not liking where this was going, stories of what sometimes occurred in Stormwind's darkest alleys coming to find.

"I'm using my body heat," Leo murmured.

"Huh?"

Leo sighed; "Listen donkey ears, you may not like it, but the fact remains that our bodies are constantly losing heat, even in frigid temperatures. By being in close proximity, we can ensure that it isn't wasted."

Shahra nodded, not sure if she believed him, but decided not to argue, given how the effects seemed to match what he'd explained.

It was strangely pleasant.

"Um, Leo?" she asked eventually.

"_What?"_asked the human irritably, turning back to face her. Two orbs of sky blue light looked back;

"Thank you."

**A/N**

_So after just over a month, chapter 8 is produced, with a new length record (8,300 words). Probably a bit too long in both regards, but I haven't been completely idle. I've spent time researching Outland's geography and have finished the plot draft, which stands at 25 chapters and an epilogue. Eeep._

_Anyway, a few issues to address;_

_-To my knowledge, the Sunhawk tabard is never featured in the game, hence the artistic licence. If it is described…well, consider it yet another fanon retcon to go along with the Sun Gate._

_-Giving blood elves the same rank system may be stretching it, but common ranks seem to be shared to an extent amongst Azeroth. Looking at history, I'm going by the theory that the night elves developed the rank system originally (albeit a simplistic version) which was taken by the high elves to Lordaeron and later developed by humans, hence the distinction between commissioned and non commissioned officers. The high elves probably adopted the same system, or they may have developed it beforehand. Regardless, this was in turn adopted by Thrall (courtesy of Blackmoore), although probably tailored to suit orc culture (hence the Horde rank system in the game)._

_-Fort Elron is a fanon location, hence why none of you have heard of it. If you HAVE heard of it…well, something freaky is going on._

_-The traveller's interlude doesn't really fit in at the middle, but putting it at the end diluted the effect that I wanted. Scrapping it wasn't an option (well, kinda) given the progression of plot. So yeah, its placing is a necessary evil._

_I think that's all. I'm going to go to sleep now._


	9. The Morning After

_Finally, here's Chapter 9, the delay being for a variety of reasons. Anyway, it is here that I'm putting up a different section, a series of 'issue responses.' Basically these cover questions and/or issues raised in reviews that others apart from the reviewer may be wondering._

_Anyway, I'll still send direct replies, but I'll put up answers here for such questions, for any who might have similar queries about the admittedly questionable portrayals I've been doing. Still, if you think this is a waste of time, or should be placed after the chapter rather than before it, just say._

_Anyway, here's said responses;_

_-I did consider including Tempest Keep bosses at some point (apart from Solarian, who I wanted to feature ever since the brainwave hit while writing chapter 1), but decided against it. Basically there was no way I could make it realistic; after all, how could Leo and/or Shahra take them on and win, considering that they're lightly armed and have been chained up for a week?_

_In the end, realism took over. Also, any such 'boss fight' at such an early stage would seem anti-climatic. There are indeed boss fight-esque moments throughout the fic, but to put one in so soon didn't seem right._

_-I think that all of you have realised by now that Shahra's motives for visiting Outland are hardly going to be revealed anytime soon…_

_-Suffice to say, Tartarus is a fel orc that has the best of both worlds; excessive strength and, for a demon crazed redskin, exceptional intelligence. Don't expect him to live up to the full demon crazed orc stereotype throughout the story…_

_-The information I get on high elves (and other things) comes from the games, novels and the RPG books that I have although most comes from the Warcraft wiki. Considering that I don't actually own WOW (for a variety of reasons), I'd never have been able to get this fic off the ground without it (shameless plug)._

_As for the eye glow, despite what WOW may have you believe, I don't believe that it's universally applied to all high/blood elves. Blood elves are explicitly described as having green eyes due to fel magic (demonstrated in the BC intro) and as for high elves…_

_Consider that in Warcraft II the high elf avatar has normal eyes, with no glow whatsoever. This trend continues to 'Day of the Dragon,' for while Vereesa is described as having sky blue eyes, they're never described as glowing. It isn't until WC3 that high elves have eye glows or pupiless eyes, and even some units have normal ones._

_Yet in the WOW era glowing eyes are universal, although clearly not so judging by illustrations in the Sunwell Trilogy and Vereesa's description in the War of the Ancients Trilogy. I don't personally consider this yet ANOTHER retcon of Blizzard and my theory is worked into the storyline. I'd rather not say how though, considering the circumstances surrounding it and the semi-plot twist involved. Such narrative theorisation has already made its mark (Shahra's reflections on her eye glow) yet has yet to fully manifest._

_Anyway, I basically don't believe that eye glow is something that all high elves universally have._

_-Shahra finding Leo easily…welcome to the world of fiction!_

_Um…yeah. Sometimes you've gotta take things on faith. _

_(In essence, I'm trying to avoid admitting to a plot hole)._

_-Unless I write a change in the plot draft, Elladan won't be showing up again. I can appreciate the possible strangeness in this, since I (tried to) flesh out his character. However, this was keeping events outside this story in mind, namely the events on Azuremyst, in which the draenei fight against the blood elf Sunhawks._

_When/if I finish this fic, I'm going to be presented with a plethora of ideas I've developed to various extents in which to write a second Warcraft fic, one of them being a 'novelisation' of the draenei quest lines, keeping in with the timeline that 'Rise of the Horde' provides, along with the apparent present of members of the Alliance (Jaina Proudmoore as the case is). Of what I've developed, Elladan plays a fairly major role. As such, I developed his character beforehand, despite such events taking place chronologically before this fic._

_-Truth be told, I'm not that fond of blood elves as a race, which can explain my general negative portrayal of them throughout the story (not that this is the case exclusively…hint hint). Even so, I couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy at times that I may have gone overboard at times. After all, fics that have a distinct good vs. evil approach between the Horde and Alliance are rarely realistic or appealing; shades of grey are usually a better approach._

_Still, these are blood elves of the Illidari, a faction that includes naga (always described as "evil" in official lore), demons (that's self explanatory) and fel orcs (basically psychopaths). As such, not to mention that they're led by a night elf/demon hybrid, some of this is sure to rub off on the Illidari blood elves._

_As such, there's a general antagonistic view on the Illidari, that, unlike portrayals I'd usually take with Alliance vs. Horde scenarios, there's indeed a bit of 'evil' about it. Still, I try to balance it by conveying that such views aren't entirely neutral (Shahra has her own prejudice) and balancing the points of view between the protagonists and antagonists._

_As for Blood Knights…heh, it's kind of ironic that I made allowance for their existence via E'tara yet didn't exploit such an opening. Truth be told, while I assumed that Illidari Blood Knights existed, I wasn't aware that any such truth existed._

_Anyway, I'm afraid that it's too late to factor them in; the draft is fully written and the only way I could include Blood Knights would be to use them as cannon fodder, which would hardly do them justice. I'm sure that fans of the naaru abusers will appreciate that no portrayal is better than an unrealistic one._

_-All high elves and blood elves are addicted to magic, it only made itself manifest when the Sunwell was destroyed. Illidan didn't get Kael'thas addicted, he simply taught the blood elves how to harness magic from demons and other similar sources to slake their addiction, techniques that Rommath taught to the blood elves in Quel'Thalas, smoothly attributing them to Kael'thas (slimy git)._

_As for Illidan himself and a Jack Sparrow scenario…well, whether he even features or not is something that I only know the answer to, and, at this point in time, refuse to divulge. Davy Jones would have my head otherwise (shot)._

_Ok, I think that's all. Future responses would be much shorter than this considering that I've covered eight chapters worth of reviews, but if it's an idea that should be removed or altered, say so._

_Anyway, on with the fic…_

…

**Denial**

**Chapter 9: The Morning After**

_Nethergarde Keep._

_It was a fortress that was steeped in legend, a silent sentinel against the darkness of the Twisting Nether and those who dwelled within it, a bastion of the Light and all that was good and wholesome in the world. Flamboyant titles to be sure, but the fortress, given its history, had earned them._

_The structure had been built in the aftermath of the Second War at the urging of the Archmage Khadgar to ensure that, should the Dark Portal ever again open and disgorge yet another tide of darkness, Azeroth's sons and daughters would be ready for it. While there had initially been reluctance to establish such an outpost, given that not only was it located in the Blasted Lands (basically a reflection of hell) and that the Alliance already had enough trouble funding both the restoration of Stormwind and the creation of the interment camps, the fact remained that Khadgar, despite his vast powers, had only destroyed the Dark Portal itself. The rift between Azeroth and the homeworld of the orcs remained, and would ever be so._

_There was a saying that Nethergarde's walls relied on blood for support rather than masonry, and in light of the fortress's history, such a saying may well have had a basis in fact. Scant months after the keep's completion, the Dark Portal had re-opened, disgorging a second tide of darkness, the waves of orcs being just as bloodthirsty as their predecessors. The only difference however, was that instead of making a mad dash at Stormwind Keep after ransacking a number of Azeroth's outer villages, they instead rushed straight for the most obvious target;_

_Nethergarde._

_It had been both a matter of both pride and strategic advantage that the Alliance maintain the keep regardless of cost, hence what resulted in a battle that rivalled that fought at the base of the Dark Portal at the end of the Second War. While the Horde had initially gained ground, a force led by Danath Trollbane; nephew of King Thoras Trollbane of Stromgarde and holding the rank of Captain in Stormwind's militia, had reinforced the keep, preventing its fall._

_Unfo__rtunately, the Alliance had played right into the Horde's hands; the Battle of Nethergarde quickly became one of attrition, with the Alliance steadily pouring in reinforcements from Stormwind to keep the Horde at bay. Such an absence had allowed a group of orcs led by the warlock Ner'zhul and the Death Knight Teron Gorefiend to infiltrate the virtually defenceless city, enter the library of Stormwind and escape with the Book of Medivh, slaughtering anyone who got in their way. With their return to Draenor, the Horde had fallen back through the portal, having obtained what they sought._

_Khadgar had theorised that Ner'zhul sought the book to open new portals, for it was only with Medivh's sorcery that the Horde had been able to open the gateway into Azeroth in the first place. With their ability to open portals at will without any conduit on Azeroth, the orcs would be able to strike at any time, anywhere. In light of these revelations, Alliance High Command, mainly at the urging of King Terenas Menethil II of Lordaeron, had ordered a force be sent into Draenor, retrieve the book of Medivh and put an end to the orc threat once and for all._

_With the force being led by the Archmage Khadgar, accompanied by the paladin Turalyon Mograine, the elf ranger Alleria Windrunner, the dwarf gryphon rider Kurdran Wildhammer and Danath Trollbane himself, its chances of victory were considered high. In the initial stages of the invasion, such faith seemed to be well placed; the Alliance forces quickly gained ground, destroying the shipyards of Zeth'kur and the fortress of Auchindoun, not to mention defeating Deathwing; father of the black dragons in combat, seemingly felling the mighty leviathan once and for all._

_However, the Book of Medivh could not be found and the Horde had reacted swiftly to the invasion, launching a series of counterattacks that drove the Alliance forces back to the Hellfire Peninsula, forcing them back onto the defensive. Although the book was eventually recovered with the aid of the Laughing Skull Clan, Ner'zhul had already learnt enough to open a series of new portals._

_The warlock had obviously gone overboard however, considering that the very fabric of reality around Draenor had begun to collapse, the herald of an inevitable apocalypse that, unless the Dark Portal was sealed, would include Azeroth in the cataclysm. Knowing what had to be done, Khadgar and those who followed him had made the ultimate sacrifice, remaining behind on Draenor to seal the portal, ensuring that Azeroth did not share with the planet's fate._

_In the aftermath of the affair, silence had descended upon Nethergarde and the Blasted Lands, a silence that many were willing to not disturb. The Dark Portal had been sealed, the Horde's powerbase shattered and those who led the doomed expedition to Draenor immortalised in the Valley of Heroes. Not really a case of "all's well that end's well", but with the issue of territorial matters, the orc interment camps, not to mention the devastating Third War that had left the northern kingdoms of Lordaeron and Dalaran in ruins, Nethergarde, on the rear end of the Eastern Kingdoms, had never rated highly in status or pressing issues. Those in power of the diminished coalition had been content to let the fortress rot._

_Then came the Burning Crusade._

_In a single, horrifying instant, Azeroth had tethered on what could have easily turned into a Fourth War. Through use of an unknown artefact, the demon Lord Kazzak; one of Archimonde's chief lieutenants, had re-opened the Dark Portal, seemingly bent on continuing what was later known as the Burning Crusade; the unholy mission of Sargeras the Destroyer to wipe out life and order from the universe. Considering that an entire army of demons began pouring through from Draenor, or Outland as it had become known, not to mention that his second-in-command; Highlord Kruul, led numerous infernal attacks all over Azeroth, even striking at the gates of Stormwind, Ironforge and Orgrimmar, there was the hideous possibility that the outcome of the Third War could be rendered void. As history repeated itself, Nethergarde had once again stood firm against yet another tide of darkness, the fortress once again proving the cornerstone to the defence of Azeroth._

_After what felt like the darker side of eternity, after what felt doomed to be the Third War repeated in all but outcome, the tide had receded, or, more accurately, repulsed by the Alliance and Horde who, for once, had pointed their swords and axes in the same direction rather than at each other. Later analysis of the battle indicated that Kazzak had been counting on a breakout in order to link up with the infernals that he'd dispatched. Denied this support however, both groups had become isolated and defeated, with Kazzak himself retreating back through the portal and Kruul seemingly running off to hide under a rock somewhere._

_How long was another matter…_

_Standing in Nethergarde's courtyard, Shahra Dreamsinger, clad in leather armour with a dagger at her side, both of which having cost a ridiculous amount, found herself observing the aftermath of such a conflict, ranging from the scorched masonry from the demons' siege engines (not to mention the demons themselves) and soldiers being…well, normal. A game of poker going on between humans and dwarfs, a few loners sharpening their blades on whetstones…In the context of what had transpired in recent times, it was almost…surreal, in that those manning the fortress were so normal._

_Still, maybe that was for the best, to maintain a sense of normality in the light of the aspects of reality, in the fact that the Burning Legion had only suffered a minor setback and the little bout of comradeship between the factionalised races had meant nothing in the long run; goodbyes had been said, swords and axes rotated ninety degrees and insults muttered as those of the Alliance and Horde headed back to their own lands to lick their wounds and…well, whatever they did in their free time._

_Shahra shook her head; she hadn't come to Nethergarde to worry about politics and had no intention of starting. Taking a deep breath, she began walking to the keep, intent on seeing the one in charge of the fortress, namely General Lordenson. To her relief, and a degree of surprise, no-one seemed to take notice of the fact that a high elf, specifically a female one in a fortress of predominantly male soldiers, had just walked into their little world. While Shahra was under no delusions as to her ability to meld in, she'd expected at best a degree of whistling and catcalling and at worst accusations of being in league with the blood elves, who, if reports were to be believed, had allied themselves with the Horde._

_Yet another aspect of the sin'dorei that made Shahra's insides turn…_

_Still, luck was with her, and the quel'dorei was in no position to complain. Swiftly making her way to the actual keep, presumably where those in charge could be found. Approaching the doorway, Shahra saw that only one soldier was present, sitting down on the steps and reading a book that looked weathered enough to belong in a museum. Almost like a reflection of his facial features._

"_Quite fitting I guess," Shahra thought to herself. "The entire fortress is old enough to be a relic." She smirked; "Well, by human standards at least. Compared to Silvermoon it-…"_

_Shahra cut off. She didn't want to think about Silvermoon right now, or anything to do with Quel'Thalas for that matter. Not ever._

"_Um…excuse me?" she asked the guard. With apathy, the man raised his gaze, Shahra noticing that the angle didn't exactly make its way up entirely to eye contact, instead centring close to her upper chest._

"_Yes?" asked the guard, his voice coming out as a tired drawl. "What do you want?"_

"_Er…I'm here to see General Lordenson," said Shahra, tapping a small money bag at the side of her belt. "I'd like to-…"_

"_Can't, he's in Stormwind," the human grunted, turning back to his book. "Getting new orders or something."_

"_Orders for what? To stand in the Blasted Lands doing nothing?" Shahra felt like asking, but decided against it, deciding to maintain diplomacy. "Who's in charge then?"_

"_Colonel Duron."_

"_I see…" said Shahra, kneeling down, slightly perturbed by the fact that the guard hadn't looked back up, indicating that she was getting nowhere fast. "Would it be alright if I saw him then?"_

_The human looked up again, his initial visage indicating that he was about to respond in the negative. However, given that the elf had crouched down, he was able to take in a few things, namely the money bag at her side, an easier look at the upper chest area and a smile that, while obviously fake, was still deceptively pleasant, it was only a second later that his visage turned into something more encouraging._

"_Perhaps," he said slowly, his gaze sweeping over Shahra's figure, seemingly unable to settle on whether the chest or belt area was the more tantalising feature. "Why should he waste his time with you?"_

_Shahra tapped the money bag._

_The man licked his lips slowly, seemingly trying to gauge how full the makeshift purse was and whether the coins inside were primarily gold or silver. Presumably liking the result, he raised his head and made eye contact for the first time;_

"_I shall see that the colonel is notified."_

_With that, the soldier headed into the keep, his speed indicating that he was hoping beyond hope that some of the money would end up in his hands. "What's the point of that though?" Shahra wondered. "It's not as if you could spend it out here."_

_Still, matters were progressing better than she had anticipated and, having no reason to complain, Shahra was perfectly content to wait, leaning up against the keep's wall._

_But would they continue to do so? Although Shahra knew precious little about Lordenson, from what she'd heard the man was a reasonable individual, perfectly willing to disregard prejudice in light of the greater good, as demonstrated with his willingness to co-ordinate his forces with those of the Horde during the Burning Crusade. Colonel Duron on the other hand…_

_It was somewhat ironic that Shahra knew more about the brown haired gold plate armour wearing colonel than his superior. Charged with maintaining a small force at Nethergarde while the Alliance and Horde drove the demons back to the portal, Duron had been the subject of interest for many gnomes who, denied access to their workshops in Gnomeregan, had decided to try their hand at being war journalists._

_According to rumour, driven to the edge of insanity by gnomes who never stopped asking pointless questions, not even to listen to actual answers, Duron had run out of the fortress screaming, his rage allowing him to take on three infernals simultaneously and winning, saving an entire platoon. While Shahra had trouble believing certain aspects of this story, she was prepared to believe that it had at least some basis in fact._

_And that __was what made her uneasy; Duron had shown a dislike for outsiders who asked questions, and Shahra fit into that category perfectly, her circumstances made worse by the fact that, as a high elf, she'd probably prompt extra suspicion. Although Nethergarde was an isolated fortress, it was still privy to any news that the Alliance received._

_News such as the Horde's new allies…_

_Deciding to take things as they came, Shahra returned to gazing out over the courtyard, hoping that she had continued to escape the notice of those stationed there. To her relief, the high elf found such hope to be sustained; although a few soldiers walking around gave her curious, sometimes suspicious looks, for the most part those stationed were content to get on with their own business; a group of humans playing poker, a night elf walking by, a couple of-…_

"_Wait, what?"_

_Shahra's eyes shot back to what she had hoped was an impossibility; a male night elf, probably a druid given the nature of the ornate wooded staff he bore. The high elf felt her trepidation increasing rapidly given that the same night elf, situated about six feet away from her, had noticed the quel'dorei in his close proximity, his glowing amber eyes locked into her sky blue ones that did nothing to hide his sole reaction to Shahra's presence…_

_Disgust._

_Shahra felt her heart racing, unsure how to react; on one hand, the night elf was a druid and therefore an individual who, in theory at least, held great respect for the sanctity of life. On the other, druidic magic was the polar opposite to that of the arcane, an energy that Shahra's entire being and indeed, all of the quel'dorei, were infused with. On one hand, the two elves were in a fortress where a brawl would hardly be smiled upon. On the other, hatred could easily override logic and given the discrepancies in physical build and weaponry, Shahra wasn't in any hurry to embrace such a possibility. Seeing that she was running out of hands, the high elf took action;_

"_Bal'a dash, malnore," (Greetings, traveller) said Shahra hastily, hoping to smooth things over by once again resorting to diplomacy. To her dismay, it seemed to have the opposite effect, considering that the kaldorei's eyes narrowed, his forest green hair and goatee, __not to mention his dark violet skin making him look like something out of a nightmare._

"_What did I do wrong?" Shahra wondered franticly, her heartbeat racing. "I used the usual greeting, employed proper etiquette. I…" Shahra trailed off, remembering that such etiquette had come from Quel'Thalas, not Kalimdor. The words were Thalassian, not Daranassian._

"_You certainly have a lot of nerve," the night elf said slowly, clutching his staff tightly, confirming Shahra's suspicions; addressing a night elf in Thalassian rather than Daranassian, the latter being a corrupted version of the former in their mind, was at best rather foolish._

_At worst it was tantamount to suicide._

"_Shit, shit, SHIT!" Shahra thought as the night elf continued to glare at her. Daranassian had only been taught to her in history lessons, lessons that had never been designed to teach high elves in the use of the language that Thalassian stemmed from. After all, why would they be? It wasn't as if any quel'dorei had intended to travel back to Kalimdor, to return to their conservative cousins who, judging from historical records, considered the use of arcane magic to be punishable by death. Common was the only secondary language that was employed by the Highborne's descendents and even that was used sparingly._

_It was funny how fate worked at times…_

"_Um, er… Elune adore," (Elune be with you) Shahra stammered, piecing together what she remembered of such lessons, hoping that the use of the night elf moon goddess's name might smooth things over. Given how the night elf's gaze narrowed even further, that was clearly not the case._

"_How dare you?" the night elf snarled, slowly advancing on Shahra. "How dare one of your kind use Her name?"_

"_Who, that of Elune?" Shahra asked, sweat beginning to glisten on her brow. "Am I not entitled to-…"_

"_Of course not!" the druid shouted. "Your kind turned your back on her__ seven thousand years ago!_

_Shahra gulped mentally, marvelling at her uncanny ability to dig her own grave. At the current rate, it would be filled in within minutes, with roses on top to boot. Quickly running over possible courses of action in her mind, she reasoned that humility was a better course of action rather than pride._

"_Should be easy to pull off," the high elf reasoned. "I've had practice after all." Seeing that the druid was awaiting a response, she moved into the next phase of diplomacy;_

"_I cannot account for the actions of my ancestors," Shahra murmured. "Elune was a noble goddess and…" She trailed off, seeing that the night elf was chuckling; "What?" she asked, sounding more irritated than she intended. _

_The druid smiled; "Nothing really. It's just that I never realised what hopeless liars quel'dorei could be."_

_Shahra blinked, unsure whether to take such a comment as a compliment or insult. She was given little time to contemplate;_

"_Still, I suppose there will be always be exceptions to a race," the druid continued, seemingly voicing his thoughts out loud without realising it. "Not even the corruption of the Highborne can survive eternity."_

_Shahra's eyes narrowed; "Are you implying something?" she asked, throwing caution to the wind. Despite her earlier efforts, pride was worming its way back into the high elf's mind._

"_You don't need me to answer that," the night elf said simply, glaring at the quel'dorei, a descendent of the Highborne that had brought Kaldorei society crashing down ten thousand years ago._

"_Do not think that my kind carry such actions without shame," Shahra said, flexing her fingers with frustration at yet another misconception, that the quel'dorei had learnt nothing from the events of the Sundering. "We have learnt from our mistakes and-…"_

"_Don't lie to me!" the druid shouted. "I know of that kingdom you established, how you practiced magic with wanton abandon! Your kind learnt nothing!"_

_Shahra continued to match his glare, her hand straying to her dagger; "Better that than being a hypocrite. Aren't druids meant to show a modicum of respect to fellow living beings, to not let their knowledge be clouded by prejudice?"_

"_Trust me, I'm free of that," the night elf snarled. "I know enough of Quel'Thalas to understand that the only good that resulted from it was that its people provided adequate cannon fodder against the-…"_

_Shahra snapped._

_Yelling something incomprehensible, the high elf threw herself at her kaldorei counterpart, her momentum carrying both elves onto the ground, Shahra landing on top, thus allowing her to begin pummelling the druid's face._

_Prejudice was one thing. Complete disregard for the sanctity of life was another._

"**You call yourself a druid!?" **_Shahra shouted, keeping up her attack. _**"You're not fit to-…"**

"_I beg to differ," the night elf snarled, swinging his staff around and hitting Shahra'__s neck with a crack, sending the high elf sprawling. "Virtue is not something that life is given by default."_

_Ignoring the pounding in her ears, Shahra quickly rose, drawing out her dagger. No sooner had she taken a step forward however, pain shot through her right leg, her motion cut short. Looking down, she saw that, no doubt due to the night elf's druidic magic, barbed roots had risen from the ground, binding her lower right leg, tearing away at her flesh. _

"_Behold nature's power," the druid smirked, maintaining the roots' position. "Must be an anathema to your kind."_

"_We…never abandoned…nature," Shahra grimaced, struggling to balance her desire to slit the night elf's throat and minimising movement so the roots didn't do more damage._

"_Liar," the druid snarled. "Nature would never bless such diseased souls. I-…"_

_The kaldorei's sentence was cut short as, once again yelling something that was incomprehensible, Shahra shot forward, ignoring the barbs tearing away at her leg's flesh, ready to…_

_Well, certainly not being grabbed from behind._

_The scene of two elves brawling in the Nethergarde's courtyard had not gone unnoticed, especially considering that at least one of them was bent on murder. As such, two soldiers grabbed Shahra from behind, another two standing in front of the druid, their swords drawn;_

"_Stop right now, or we'll-…"_

"**I'll kill you!" **_Shahra shouted, directing such a threat to the night elf but shouting so hysterically that it could have easily been a threat to all those present. _**"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"**

"_I'm sure," the night elf said calmly. "But what will Colonel Duron think of that?"_

_Shahra's shouting stopped immediately, slowly turning to face the keep behind her. Still restrained by the two soldiers, a dozen more looking on curiously, the high elf found herself face to face with the one that she had asked for, the one that was currently clad in golden plate armour, a giant double-handed battlesword slung over his back;_

_Colonel Duron._

_Her fury having been replaced by fear, Shahra knelt her head. Shame and trepidation washed through her, the former being due to her lack of restraint, the latter due to being the look on Duron's face that, given the debacle he'd just witnessed, indicated that he had similar homicidal tendencies._

"_I was told that a high elf wished to see me," the colonel said slowly. "I had no idea that it was all just to demonstrate her insanity."_

_Laughter rippled through the crowd, Shahra fighting back tears; "How could I lose control like that?" she wondered. "How am I honouring the fallen of Quel'Thalas by giving into rage?"_

"**There is nothing wrong with rage," **_a voice at the back of Shahra's_ _mind said. _**"Your flaw is that you lack the power and focus to utilise it properly."**

_Shahra barely noticed__, still cursing herself for giving a false impression of her nature, misguiding the soldiers into thinking that the quel'dorei were indeed giving in to madness, were on the brink of following the path of the sin'dorei, of-…_

"**Accurate impressions, I assure you."**

"_Is __it worth me asking why you assaulted my comrade here?" Duron asked. "Or should I just throw you in the stockade?"_

_Shahra looked up to face the colonel, the sky blue light from her eyes being marred by a certain clear liquid; "My…pride got the better of me, sir," she stammered._

"_Pride?" Duron asked, a smirk showing. "What's left for your kind to take pride in?"_

_Laughter once again rippled through the crowd, along with a few jeers. Once again facing the barren earth, Shahra, despite her shame and general misery, could not help but instantly reach an answer to that question…_

_Nothing._

…

"By the Light, would you shut up!?"

To Leo's surprise, his demand was instantly granted. The high elf, having spent the last few hours leaning against the 'sleeping rock' and mumbling something nonsensical, instantly stopped, her eyes flicking open instantaneously. She slowly rose from the rock, rubbing her neck; "Er, what?" she asked slowly.

Leo sighed; _"Three hours of waiting for that bitch to wake up and that's all I get?" _He shook his head as he walked over, crouching down to face her; "Pleasant dreams?"

Shahra, now fully awake, went to say something then thought better of it;

"Fine," the elf murmured impassively. Seeking to change the subject, the quel'dorei noticed that Leo had his sword drawn;

"What's with the drawn blade?" Shahra asked suspiciously.

Leo glanced at the shortsword that he'd taken from the guard; "Had to give myself _something _to do while waiting for you to wake up." He gave a few practice swings as he walked away from Shahra slowly, snorting in disgust; "Waste of time though. Seriously, what's the point of a blade this small? I may as well-…"

Shahra's mind tuned out as Leo began to list the advantages of double handed battleswords, how they outshone shorter blades in every way. Instead, she turned her mind back to the dream that had played through her mind, one that mirrored reality exactly;

"_My mind must have gone on a sadistic streak recently or something," _the high elf thought to herself, shuddering as she remembered the similar flashback that she'd had while being dragged by Tartarus after her confrontation with Kael'thas. _"Still, maybe I deserved it…"_

Shaking her head, Shahra sat fully forward from the rock, massaging the back of her neck. Leaning back on an angle as she slept hadn't done her neck muscles any favours; _"not entirely unlike her 'diplomacy' at Nethergarde really,"_ the elf reflected sadly.

Shahra smiled bitterly as she remembered the begging and pleading that she'd undergone with the colonel after the debacle with the druid. Exactly what she'd said and for how long was hazy, but suffice to say it had paid off, given how, after parting with every single coin she'd scrounged up over the last fiver years, Shahra had been given an escort to the Dark Portal.

Shahra snorted as Leo extended his lecture to how swords in general were superior to axes; _"Escort? Heh, more like…well, something else," _the high elf thought, unable to think of a witty simile. _"I bet Duron personally chose those men," _she thought bitterly, licking her lips in a combination of regret and frustration. _"After all, I-…"_

Shahra's train of thought screeched to a halt, and not because Leo had made a loud snort as to how he'd always managed to win fights against someone called Gazgul. Instead, it was the realisation that had struck her like a bolt of lighting as she'd licked the inside of her mouth subconsciously. The bitter taste…

It was gone.

Shahra fought back an urge to let out a shout of jubilation; true, bitter taste wasn't new to her, having sampled gnome 'cooking' in Stormwind. Yet what had been with her ever since waking up in the cell with Leo, something that had always been at the back of her mind despite whatever Tempest Keep threw at her, was finally gone. An itch that could not be scratched had faded of its own accord.

"_Guess I'm on the road to recovery then," _Shahra thought, smiling faintly as Leo made reference to something called a "Vindicator." _"The bruises that Tartarus inflicted are healed. Now all that's left is-…"_

The high elf's smile faded as she drew up her right trouser leg, expecting to see the scars that the druid's thorns had left during the brawl at Nethergarde. Given the stinging pain that had followed in the aftermath, made even worse by the healing salve that she'd applied later to prevent infection. Yet despite the pain, despite the fact that the thorns had torn bloody gashes in her flesh, there was nothing to suggest that the high elf's skin had been damaged in any way whatsoever. No scars, no inflammation. Nothing.

Such an absence of damage didn't make sense and Shahra knew it; true, it was one thing for her to be healed from Tartarus's assault, and not entirely surprising. After all, Kael'thas hadn't been hell bent on feeding her to fel hounds or something similar, instead wanting to convert Shahra from a "child of noble birth" to a "child of blood." True, there had been a gap between Tartarus's assault and his return, but, from what Shahra could recall, he _had _drawn the fel orc off. Judging from their discussion, the Sunstrider prince hadn't been intent on being left with a corpse, which would have probably been the result had Tartarus pounded away for much longer. The brute had probably acted out of impulse…

"_But why remove the scars while they were at it?" _Shahra wondered, still checking her leg. The arts of healing weren't really known to her, but of what she remembered, healing magic couldn't have been responsible; Tartarus's fists had been applied over her whole body and as a result, such magic would have been applied generally, which would have left a pleasant 'tingling' sensation in the aftermath. Yet that had been absent, which meant that salves were the only alternative. As such, it meant that some blood elf had seen the scars and had gone out of his or her way to heal the damaged skin tissue.

"_But why though?" _Shahra wondered, not listening nor caring where Leo's argument had headed. The high elf bit her lip, mulling the question over; there was hardly any love between the two elven kindreds of Quel'Thalas and despite what little existed, if any, it would hardly prompt such acts of generosity. _"Maybe I just got lucky," _Shahra thought, checking her leg _again. "Unlikely though. Eldin was the only sin'dorei who perhaps wouldn't have preferred seeing me dead."_

Shahra was in little hurry to continue her ponderings and found that she had an excuse not to, given that a gourd and piece of grey bread suddenly landed in her lap. Looking up, she saw that Leo had an identical repertoire;

"Breakfast in bed," the human smirked, having either finished his sword argument or had finally realised that Shahra hadn't been listening.

Shahra looked down at her 'breakfast' with regret; water and..._ "oh no," _she thought. _"Not garosh."_

"Something wrong?" Leo asked, taking a bite out of the bread and taking a swig of water. "I did get these off some guards I took out while escaping from the citadel, but even so-…"

"It's not that," Shahra said, still gazing at the food miserably. "It's just that I hoped never to see garosh again."

Leo raised an eyebrow, not knowing that Shahra's regret stemmed from the fact that she'd relied on the hard bread for substance for four of the five years after the razing of Quel'Thalas. Still, even then he could understand such reluctance; garosh had originally been developed by dwarves as a type of substance for their miners, who spent weeks or even months underground at a time. Made up of a combination of proteins, carbohydrates, fibre and basically everything the body needed, a single piece of garosh could keep the average humanoid going for a week. The only drawback however, was that it tasted like, in a word, crap. Technically like dense pepper, but few cared to specify.

From what Shahra remembered of what she'd been told by her fellow quel'dorei, garosh had spread to Quel'Thalas via the Wildhammer dwarves who, while preferring to dwell on mountains rather than within them, still employed the substance as rations when going out on long patrols. Elven tastes were far more refined than that of dwarves, but through a combination of magic and herbs, had managed to improve the taste enough to let the substance work its way into the Ranger Corps. True, the ancient woodland kingdom was teeming with edible flora and fauna, but even so, the substance had proved useful in the past, especially in the Second War.

Shahra watched on as Leo took a final bite, torn between using water to wash away the taste and the need to conserve it. Madril had told her that garosh had worked its way into human armies as last ditch rations, but unlike the elves, they had no means of improving the taste.

Shame began to well in the high elf, looking on as Leo's visage took on something akin to a lemon; melodrama had surrounded her in the last five years, especially in recent times, but even so, she still had an extensive lifespan to enjoy, even with prejudice and magical addiction to deal with. True, the Sunwell's destruction had, at least according to projections, shortened the high elven lifespan to 750 years, the new mark of adulthood being 60, but that still made them perhaps the longest lived mortal race on Azeroth after the kaldorei.

Yet compared to that of a human, whose life expectancy was 70-90 years? Shahra could not begin to comprehend it, yet tried anyway; Leo was in his mid-forties, so his parents were probably dead, either by the sword or the slow decay of time, his grandparents guaranteed to be so. Shahra wasn't completely sure about the effects of factors such as disease, but understood that humans were exceptionally vulnerable to the ravages of nature when compared to other races, the mortality rate being only kept in check by prolific breeding; something that Shahra's school teachers had attributed to general vivapory. Only now had she considered the possibility that it was driven by necessity.

"_Such is the price of a continuation of a species," _Shahra thought sadly as she watched Leo recover from the final stages of the bitter tasting bread. It was a funny paradox; in her heart she knew that her kind were doomed to die a slow death, wrought on by a diminished population and magical addiction. Yet were humans any better off, when their own survival depended on the ability to make use of such a short lifespan, to live a fleeting existence where loss in some form or another was guaranteed to afflict them from cradle to grave?

Shahra didn't know. What she _did _know, was that she was fighting back the urge to stand up and hug the man in front of her, to reassure him that…well, of something that defied mortality. Caught up in such thoughts, Shahra must have been staring considering that as he glanced in her direction he raised an eyebrow, slightly disconcerted at the two sky blue orbs that were boring into him; "Something wrong?" he asked curiously. "Need to meditate or something?"

"Pardon?" asked Shahra, caught off guard by the question.

"I asked if you need to meditate," Leo repeated, his voice hinting at a degree of suspicion.

"I…" Shahra trailed off, coming to the realisation that the concept of meditation had slipped her mind entirely.

In one sense it was hardly surprising. Having been unable to meditate over the past week due to the saturation of arcane and fel magic that her cell, not to mention all of Tempest Keep had been bathed in, Shahra had realised early on that any attempt at meditation was a lost cause. Not only did such saturation make closing her mind off from the world next to impossible (due to the addiction to the magic that surrounded her) but with the lack of any sunlight that the high elf often enjoyed bathing in, there was hardly any incentive to do so.

Still, such hindrances hadn't really perturbed the high elf; a failure to meditate didn't instantly guarantee falling to arcane addiction and besides, going by what accounts that she knew of concerning the subject, a quel'dorei would have warning that his or her arcane dependency was becoming a liability. Apart from boredom, uncomfortableness and a general state of fear, Shahra hadn't felt anything out of the ordinary while confined in the citadel's lower cells.

Yet even now, outside Tempest Keep, away from all the free magic, Shahra still didn't feel the need to meditate. True, having kept to a set pattern of meditation for the past five years had ensured that the high elf never approached a 'danger zone', but even so, it had become a compulsive habit. Yet even with Outland's sun providing a degree of incentive, faint rays shining down through the tortured sky, the need simply didn't exist.

Both hope and trepidation coursed through Shahra's mind; hope in that, defying everything that she'd been told about the quel'dorei's addiction to magic, she'd fully overcome her addiction to arcane magic, that a rigorous pattern of meditation had shielded her body fully from its ravages. True, there was nothing inherently unpleasant about meditation, but even so, the idea wasting an hour every day of her life for the next few centuries was hardly appealing.

On the other hand, there was no guarantee that Leo would see this the same way that Shahra did, which was the source of the trepidation that had come into her mind alongside hope. The lack of the need to meditate could indicate that she'd turned to another source to slake the addiction to magic that all the descendents of the Highborne shared, such a source perhaps being fel magic, crossing the line between quel'dorei and sin'dorei.

It was hardly a pleasant notion, considering the likely repercussions…

"I…I don't suppose that we could spare an hour?" Shahra asked timidly, noticing that Leo seemed to be awaiting a response. It wasn't something that the high elf would have asked under normal circumstances, but for now at least, it seemed best to act like her status quo hadn't changed.

Leo shrugged, a look of resentment on his face; "Don't see why not," he said bitterly. "You've already wasted three hours. No harm in making it four."

Shahra raised an eyebrow; "Three hours? What are you talking about?"

Leo laughed bitterly; "What, didn't I mention that I've spent the last three hours waiting for you to return from the land of Nod?"

"No…" said Shahra uneasily. She looked up at him; "Why didn't you wake me?"

Leo shifted his left foot uneasily; "It…it didn't seem right to disturb you, especially since you seemed to be having some kind of dream." He smiled faintly; "Still, given all the mumbling, you haven't really been living up to the last part of your surname."

Shahra was tempted to her feet and slap the twat across the face, to shout that waking her up was the _best_ thing he could have done. Still, she managed to resist, understanding that Leo had done what he thought was right.

But even so, three hours…

"Anyway, we're getting sidetracked," Leo said, his hasty speech indicating that he wanted to avoid the subject. "What matters is whether you need to meditate."

"I-…"

"Under normal circumstances I'd let you, but given our relatively close proximity to Tempest Keep, it would be prudent to put as much distance between ourselves and it before settling down to such things."

Shahra blinked; for someone who had rushed out of Tempest Keep at top speed, Leo's patience was surprising. Still, she remained wary, knowing that this could all be a test; an assurance that she was fine to travel without meditation could be seen as 'proof' that she was indeed a blood elf spy, the result being on the end of a blade. Yet to claim that she required meditation before travelling was not only a lie, but would convey great selfishness, which would hardly benefit their "alliance of convenience."

Shahra rose to her feet, flexing her fingers as she did so; "It's…hard to say," she lied, deciding to aim for a middle-ground. "I should be able to put off meditation until the end of the day, but…" She trailed off, faking uncertainty.

Leo sighed; "Give me your hand."

Without waiting for a response, the human took the elf's right hand, holding it out flat so that the palm faced upwards, sunlight flickering down on it. Wordlessly, Leo began flexing each of the fingers at their tips.

"Um…Leo?" Shahra asked uncertainly, not entirely objecting to such treatment given that it was strangely pleasant yet slightly uneasy at what the human was doing; "What are you doing?"

Leo sighed as he continued flexing the fingers; "I'm going by the assumption that you're a high elf, and as such, resist your addiction to magic."

"How kind of you to think so," Shahra murmured as Leo reached her middle finger. "But that still doesn't-…"

As such, I'm trying to gauge your body's reaction to the magic coursing through it," Leo continued, moving on to the ring finger. "Magic is cast from the hands and as such, leaves a faint residue."

"I…see," said Shahra slowly, not really understanding at all. "But how does that help you check my…problem, as such?"

Leo raised an eyebrow; "Why am I even explaining this to you? You're the one with the addiction."

The high elf shrugged; "Let's just say that I've never been too keen into going into the specifics."

"Lucky you," the human murmured as he started on the last fingertip. "Anyway, from what I know of high elf arcane dependency, the body reacts to the amount of magic coursing through it. Should it reach a certain level, the body will begin to attempt to actively remove the magic."

"And such an exit point is from the fingers?" Shahra asked.

"Technically the hands," Leo said as he finished flexing the fifth finger. "The residue that magic leaves can be felt even by those not attuned to it. It's a good way of gauging how much magic has been used in recent times." His visage became less business like; "Suffice to say, you don't seem to be in any danger."

"Um…thanks," said Shahra awkwardly. A short silence passed, before the high elf broke it; "How do you know this stuff anyway?"

The business-like visage returned; "By necessity," Leo grunted, conveying a degree of resentment. "Let's leave it at that."

Shahra saw no reason to argue, given that the human's grey eyes hinted at…well, something that supported her initial impression when she'd first seen him in the cell, how he was an individual that had either seen too much or, perhaps due to the first reason, no longer cared what he saw.

And that wasn't the only question either; why was the human even in Outland? A shattered, demon infested wasteland, the orcs' homeworld was hardly a realm that an individual would visit without good reason. True, he was hardly out of place in the hellish world, given his apparent martial prowess and resistance to the elements, but even so, there had to be _some _kind of reason as to why he had crossed over from Azeroth.

"_Possibly one even as stupid as mine," _Shahra reflected bitterly, only then realising that they were still holding hands. Leo must have realised it too, considering that he quickly withdrew his and adjusted his belt;

"Anyway, we best be off. The journey south will hardly be easy, even without the blood elves on our arses." He began walking off; "Come along donkey ears."

"Sure thing _Leonard_," Shahra responded sarcastically. She immediately wondered as to whether it was a suitable response however, given how Leo suddenly spun around, a vein throbbing in his temple.

"Don't call me that," he snarled. _"Ever."_

Shahra was caught off guard; "Sorry. I-…"

"I can't stand the name Leonard," the human continued. "Only close friends are allowed to call me that, only two of them not being human. I-…"

"Leo, I'm not nearly arrogant enough to call myself a friend at this point, trust me," interrupted Shahra, keeping a neutral tone yet feeling slightly…hurt at such an admission, though she couldn't quite identify why. "I simply-…"

"Wait," interrupted Leo, stepping towards the high elf, yet not menacingly. "Don't jump to conclusions."

"But didn't you just-…"

"I overreacted," Leo said hastily. "I don't want to dissuade you from climbing the social ladder."

"Pardon?" Shahra asked, confused as to what the human was getting at.

Leo sighed; "Consider yourself as having the position of ally."

"Ally?" "I'm no longer a potential liability then?" Shahra asked, remembering Leo's frustration as to how her tendencies towards prejudice could somehow make her a liability, although exactly how was left unexplained.

"That remains to be seen," the human murmured impassively. "I'm simply saying that you have to pass through the positions of ally and comrade before reaching the status of friend."

Shahra raised an eyebrow; "You've worked this down to a social science? That's pretty…"

"Sad?" Leo asked. "Perhaps, but circumstances dictate such measures." Smiling, he walked up to the elf and put a hand on her shoulder; "Don't get me wrong donkey ears, social hierarchies can be fun to move through." With that, he gave a wink and he walked off.

Shahra simply stood there, watching in bemusement. The act of reducing friendship to simple progression…well, that was…interesting, to say the least. Assuming that he was speaking from experience, she would not be the first one to move through the ranks, and perhaps not the last. Almost demeaning in a sense.

Yet Shahra could not but help feel gratified, appreciating that Leo, perhaps unintentionally, perhaps not, had left her such an opportunity to ascend to the rank of friendship. For some reason, beyond that of no longer being suspected of being a blood elf and not having to deceive the human as to her supposed need to meditate, Shahra found the idea of such a position alluring.

The elf looked up at the sky, seeing that the rays of the sun were still filtering through, even more so than before. She smiled, feeling the warmth across her face;

"Anar'alah belore, al diel shala," she whispered before heading off to follow Leo.

_By the light of the sun, may we have safe travels._

…

Dawn.

Set in meditation, the traveller knew that the sun had risen, had cast its light over a world deprived of it, yet cared little. For all its glory, the sun was simply an object, uncaring of the life that dwelt in its gaze. It had no consciousness. It meant nothing in the greater scheme of things, merely one star among billions in a dark, uncaring universe.

Yet despite this, the sun was often associated with hope, something that signified what was considered good and wholesome in the cosmic order. As he slowly opened his eyes and rose to his feet, the traveller couldn't help but snort at such a notion, that hope could be associated with such an object. It was doomed to die eventually after all, the process of converting hydrogen into helium being its death warrant. The sun of any planet was merely a symbol of fate, a reminder that the universe and all that dwelt within it were slaves to the process of infinitude.

"_Which makes our fight all the more grandiose," _the traveller thought bitterly as he looked out over the wastes of the Netherstorm. He reflected sadly that there had once been a time where the concept of a wasteland was alien to Draenor, when it had been a peaceful, idyllic world. There had been a time when associating the sun with hope was not laughable, when its glow had not been marred by the currents of insanity that permeated the sky.

"_Still, it seems best to hold onto such notions," _the traveller mused, stretching his shoulders. _"After all, when marred by the touch of demons, when everything is taken away from you, what else can you hold onto?"_

In the context, very little, considering that hope was what little he had in the context. It was hope that Leo could make it to the designated meeting point, hope that he had managed to scour some rations and a weapon from Tempest Keep, hope that nothing would intercede between him and their shared destination.

Too much was at stake after all to think differently…

…

**A/N**

_Truth be told, I intended to make this chapter twice as long. However, I divided it into two__ chapters, this being the first half, the second taking place a week after. I felt this for the best due to the sakes of length (over ten thousand words would be a bit much) and preventing a mid-chapter time jump. Had to make up the traveller monologue on the spot to keep in with the multiple POV approach that I'm trying to maintain, but it seemingly paid off._

_Anyway, suffice to say that the projected chapter length has been increased by one. Such projections are based on the divisions of the story draft, as to how they're divided into chapters, but such things don't always progress as planned._

_Meh. "Expect the unexpected."_


	10. Eye of the Netherstorm

_I've put the A/N section and issue responses at the end of this chapter. Still, I'll say now that I've changed "garosh" to "kharosh." It's explained in the section._

**Denial**

**Chapter 10: Eye of the Netherstorm**

Hyperion hated flying.

Unfortunately, flying was something that he'd been forced to do, courtesy of a certain sin'dorei prince whose sanity was in question, at least in Hyperion's mind. After all, sane people did not hold their forces back in their fortress while two escapees roamed free. Sane people did not banish fully capable officers to backwater forts just for speaking their minds. Sane people did not send aviophobic people out on dragonhawks, especially since-…

Hyperion shook his head. _"Alright, perhaps the last part isn't so surprising," _he thought bitterly. _"Add in a touch of sadism and that blonde twat's actions make sense. At least in __**his**__ warped view."_

Sighing, the blood elf rubbed the back of his neck, stiff from constantly facing forward, bitterly reflecting that he'd been caught between a rock and a hard place. Technically he'd had a choice between travelling to Fort Elron and staying at Tempest Keep, or at least that was what Kael'thas had always assured him when not meditating. Hyperion hadn't been fooled though. Staying in the floating citadel and knowing that he no longer possessed the title "High Astromancer of Tempest Keep," not to mention everyone else knowing this…it was unthinkable.

"_And to think that it was Solarian of all people which replaced me," _Hyperion thought bitterly, clenching his fist and putting it back on the reign of the dragonhawk a second later. Unable to comprehend how that freak had usurped him and wishing that she'd died when Dar'khan had screwed up the Sunwell, Hyperion had quickly realised that Tempest Keep had become the rock in his life, something out of which no substance could be gained. Only offering a life of reduced status and occasional naaru torture, Hyperion knew that the floating citadel offered nothing for him anymore. Unfortunately, a hard place was the astromancer's only alternative, namely the fortress that Kael'thas had assigned him to a week ago.

Fort Elron…

Flying within sight of what had become the hard place of his life, Hyperion could not help but wonder exactly why the word "fort" was used. Nestled in the Mountains of Flame, which ran across the northern boundary of Hellfire Peninsula, Fort Elron was more along the lines of a castle than anything else. With tall, featureless stone walls, gothic towers which looked over Outland like undominatable sentinels and situated on a plateau surrounded by a gorge over which a drawbridge was the only possible entry, "fort" hardly did the piece of architecture justice.

"_Still, Castle Elron hardly conveys an accurate impression either," _Hyperion mused, wishing that his dragonhawk could try flying a bit more smoothly. Still, he knew that would be impossible. The Mountains of Flame stayed true to their namesake in that there was always at least one peek emitting ash, dust and poisonous gasses, constantly wrecking havoc with the wind currents that ran through them. The result was that the thermals which ran through the mountain chain were much harder to navigate by avians, having to rely mostly on their own efforts to soar rather than the air around them. The consequence was an awful lot of wind flapping and for whoever was on the flying mount, an extremely sore arse.

Hyperion _really_ hated flying.

Taking his mind off his sore rump, the churning feeling in his stomach and whatever else aviophobia could throw at him, Hyperion returned to focussing on the castle/fort that lay before him. All things considered, perhaps "fort" was the better term, "castle" conveying ideas of grandeur. Fort Elron lacked any such thing, having been built for sturdiness and defensibility in mind rather than eloquence. Nestled away in what was perhaps the most inaccessible region of Outland, accessible only by air or an extremely narrow mountain path that Broken slaves maintained (or at least tried to), the piece of architecture hardly radiated the opulence that was imbuned with Thalassian civilisation. It instead said something along the lines of "I want to hide away from the world and have the means to do it."

There was a saying that "no man is an island." Fort Elron, if it were a man, would have proved otherwise.

"_But it isn't such a thing, is it?" _Hyperion mused, accepting without doubt that "fort" was indeed the better name, the term being associated with backwater places that were part of a group that the Mountains of Flame could have entered without having to pay membership. _"It's not even mainly occupied by men, at least from the last count." _The astromancer gave a small shudder. _"By the Sunwell, how am I going to survive? The things in there are-…"_

"What's with the green look paleskin? Trying to become an orc or something?"

"…_just like Tartarus."_

Looking over at his flight companion, pain shooting through his stiff neck as he did so, Hyperion felt a wave of sympathy wash through him, ignoring the fact that such emotions were weakness inherent. Such sympathy was directed to the fel orc's mount, a mighty dragonhawk akin to Hyperion's own, albeit a disgruntled one. It was understandable really. Having been trained to fly and fight in tandem with elf riders, it must have been… discomforting to say the least to have a red skinned brute dropped on your back.

While Hyperion was able to ignore Tartarus's jeers, he could not ignore just how _wrong _the scene looked. The fel orc, like the rest of his bastard kind, was a red skinned brute with only the bare necessities of clothing and a stench that smelled to the Twisting Nether. In contrast the dragonhawk was a majestic beast, its feathers gleaming even in the faint sunlight, highlighting the hints of blue and red which ran across its neck and wings. With raptor-like talons and a head that combined the features of a dragon and eagle, it was simply…_abhorrent _that anything other than a blood elf should be allowed to ride it. After all, the foulness of lower species aside, the Illidari had few dragonhawks left-only around 75 had been brought from Dalaran after Garithos settled on mass execution for allying with the naga and half of them had been lost in the initial Outland campaign, courtesy of red dragons that had remained in the Old Horde's service and had become inducted into Magtheridon's forces by default.

"_And what do we do with the rest?" _reflected Hyperion bitterly. He couldn't bring himself to answer, guilt still weighing down on him. It had been his idea that the bulk of their remaining riders be sent against Arthas' landing party at Northrend, seeking to put an end to the traitor prince before he could establish a beachhead. It had seemed a good idea at the idea and would have actually succeeded if not for the fact that crypt fiends happened to be nearby, ensnaring most of the flying beasts and their riders, ghouls sizing the opportunity and rushing forward.

The results were rather spectacular. And messy.

"_And now, to top it off, we give one of our last dragonhawks to a __psychotic savage who…" _Hyperion trailed off. Angsty reflection wasn't going anywhere, especially since Tartarus, for all his faults, had one redeeming feature, in that it would be useful to have someone of his strength and grotesqueness in his new posting. At least it worked that way in theory, Fort Elron's founding having been ordered by Lord Illidan himself in response to the re-opening of the Dark Portal by Lord Kazzak. Hyperion, indeed, the Illidari as a whole, weren't entirely sure what had transpired in Azeroth in Kazzak's invasion but knew that it hadn't turned out well for Archimonde's lieutenant, the demon fleeing to the Mountains of Flame and establishing himself in the mountain known as the Throne of Kil'jaeden. Believing that he would try to rally his forces there or perhaps summon even more of the Legion to Outland, Illidan had ordered that Fort Elron be established so that an eye could be kept on the demon lord.

Hyperion didn't know how well this had turned out as, nearing the fortress, he could see while drab, the piece of architecture was completely unscarred. Either it did its job extremely well or didn't do it at all. Hyperion wasn't sure what to believe. On the one hand, Astaroth, considering his species, was presumably a competent commander. On the other, few blood elves actually resided inside the fortress, the guard duty, somewhat appropriately, being regulated to…other things. Things that made Hyperion slightly grateful, the Sun forbid, that Tartarus was with him. Having a freak of his own could make him fit in after all, not to mention giving him a useful right hand.

Hyperion shook his head. It still wasn't worth it. Yes, he knew what making Astaroth remember where his loyalties lay entailed, the creature's reports being noticeably absent of late, but that hardly compared to his former posting back at Tempest Keep, even if he was in the service of a prince who, for some reason, refused to send out anyone after the human and high elf, a prince who insisted that the elements would kill them quicker than righteous sin'dorei steel, a prince who-…

"**Screw it, I fucking hate the prince!"**

Tartarus, who'd been in the middle of reminiscing on Deathwing's demise like it was some tragedy, looked at Hyperion quizzically. "Something getting to you astromancer?"

Hyperion, knuckles turning white against the reigns, glared back at him. Despite the roar of the thermals, silence descended over the two riders, a silence that was suddenly broken…

"**Yes there's something getting to me you brute! I hate Kael'thas, I hate not being able to track down that blonde bitch and cave dweller, I hate the fact that I'm no longer High Astromancer of Tempest Keep, I hate ****Solarian for taking my place, I hate being assigned to Fort Elron, I hate Lord Illidan for ordering its establishment, I hate Lord Kazzak for prompting its establishment, I hate you, I hate flying by you-…"**

It was at this point that a gust of ash-clogged air blasted across the thermals, the dragonhawk squawking in alarm and causing Hyperion to nearly fall off, coughing as he did so.

"…**and I fucking hate flying too!"**

Tartarus nodded. "I thought as much."

* * *

The traveler was puzzled. 

It was a feeling that was not entirely new to him, having experienced bewilderment many times over the course of his life. True, the sources of such a feeling varied immensely, ranging from curiosity to horrifying realization, but even so, the result was always the same-a drive to find answers, regardless of how difficult such a task was. _This _however, was ridiculous. The same question had been with him for a week and yet he was no closer to finding the answer than he had been at the outset.

Under the faint light of the setting sun, mostly eclipsed by the baleful luminescence of the Twisting Nether, the traveler once again knelt down to examine the soil of the Netherstorm, sensing the chaotic magic run through the earth. Not the most pleasant feeling in the world, but the traveler had been through worse. _Much_ worse.

"_If only Icarus could see me now," _he thought, carefully scraping loose soil aside. The Netherstorm's soil was rather strange in that while there was no flora to hold it in place it was still remarkably firm, allowing soil to blow loose but not to the extent that the region resembled a desert. Admittedly irradiation could have played a role but that required heat from the sun, which was shrouded perpetually in this region of Outland. True, the fel magic of the Nether could provide a substitute, but the traveler somehow doubted it. Despite being nothing more than a ball of plasma in which nuclear fusion occurred, it seemed…wrong somehow to associate the sun's abilities with those of the realm beyond.

"_No doubt Icarus could think of something to explain it," _the traveler mused, scraping more of the soil aside. _"Or Valundi for that matter. After all, I…"_

The traveler trailed off for two reasons. The first was that just thinking of those who were no longer with him was…well, it wasn't something that he enjoyed doing. The second was that after applying the tracking techniques that he'd bothered to learn from his younger brother he'd once again found what had become a daily discovery over the past week…

Footprints.

They were just the same as they'd always been, or at least in principle. Two sets of footprints, heading at first in a western direction and then south, bypassing Sunfury Hold and heading towards Corru Point, situated between the manaforge of the same name and Kirin'Var Village. A spark of light in the darkness as it was, the manaforges being designed for Light knew what and the village…well, another thing best not to dwell on. All that mattered was that Leo, or at least what was almost certainly Leo given that one set of footprints were clearly of average human size, was heading in the right direction. Still, there was a key word in that sentence. A word that made the traveler uneasy…

One. _One_ set of footprints. A set of footprints that, by comparing sizes, were accompanied by those of an elf…

At first the traveler feared for Leo's safety. After all, hadn't he seen that female blood elf outside Tempest Keep, heading away from Tempest Keep to the bridge that would lead to the Netherstorm's southeast region? True, the bizarre strangulation scene with the fel orc didn't exactly convey a sense of martial prowess, but even so, appearances could be deceptive. Considering that the elf's footprints were never more than a few meters away from Leo's, not to mention heading in the same direction, she certainly seemed to be tracking the human also. Four days ago however, things had changed. The footprints…they were different…

They were parallel…

This was something that the traveler could make no sense of. Judging by the angles of the footprints, how they almost always coincided horizontally and were of approximately equal length, not to mention that the footprints of the elf were generally on a slant, a realization had slowly formed in his mind. At first the traveler had hoped that the bitch had sprained her ankles or something but soon realized that was unlikely-if the magic addict had sprained an ankle he would have caught up long ago and done the universe a great service by removing it of yet another demon whore.

No, there was only one possible explanation, one which the traveler could scarcely believe. When one considered the fact that the elf footprints were always on the left and that the average length of an elf arm was long enough to go around a human's shoulders…

The elf was _leaning_ on him…

"_And it's no different here either," _thought the traveler, seeing that the angle and location of the footprints hadn't deviated from the norm. He slowly rose to his feet, brushing the soil off his hands, wishing there was a place where he could wash them. The magical irradiation was bad enough but when one considered the likelihood of orc feces…well, that was unpleasant.

Yet the situation here stank more than even the most disgusting of those green skinned brutes and the traveler had seen many of them. There was no explanation for the setup other than the possibility that Leo and the blood elf were working together. Admittedly there was a faint possibility that Leo had captured the donkey eared brat but even so, that made little sense; if you'd captured an enemy, you would having him (or her as the case was) walk in front of you, not leaning against your side, thus leaving you vulnerable. True, humans hadn't struck the traveler as the most rational species in the universe but they were far from clueless, Leo being no exception.

Besides, surely Leo had learnt his lesson when it came to trusting the paleskins…After all, hadn't he learnt that the hard way? How could he either consider extending such trust?

The traveler didn't know. All he knew was that Leo and the elf were traveling together, that Leo was defying everything that he knew and was therefore ignoring the seriousness of the situation. Even if the elf _was _a prisoner, that would be perplexing…surely the human could understand how foolish such an action was, for reasons both personal and professional. Sighing, the traveler glanced at the sun, noting that it had progressed even further in its setting phase. Tightening the straps of his armour, his gaze turned south, his eyes narrowing…

_"Dammit Leonard, what the hell are you playing at?"_

* * *

Shahra felt ill. 

Under the light of the setting sun, most of it eclipsed by the baleful energies of the Netherstorm, the high elf still wasn't completely sure exactly when it began or how it happened. True, the first signs had appeared four days ago, most of it situated around vomit and excessive shivering, but even so, that was far from conclusive evidence. At best, she could narrow the possibilities down to a few options.

The first centered around the trek that she and Leo were currently on, having headed west then south from Tempest Keep. The Netherstorm was a wasteland, completely inhospitable to life. By day it was akin to the Blasted Lands on Azeroth, heat from the sun and supposedly the Twisting Nether cooking the barren soil, the energy being re-radiated due to the lack of ground cover. By night it was freezing, the lack of any wood for a fire not helping matters. The result had been a bulk of sweat and shivering on both their parts, too tired to care by day and staying close at night, neither of which could be healthy.

"_Still, mornings and evenings are ok I guess," _Shahra thought, reflecting how sunrise and sunset were the most bearable parts of the day. It was appropriate in a sense, given how she had always meditated in the light of the sun back on Azeroth, believing, perhaps in vain that there was a solar deity which smiled down on its children, or at least those who remained true to the old ways. True, the sun was hardly a pleasant presence at noon, but the quel'dorei was willing to bear with it in return for its blessings as it rose and set.

All in all, temperature changes were a distinct possibility but Shahra had others to consider. If it was anything to do with natural causes, the elf had to admit that perhaps the struggle to make a daily trek of miles in the double digits was to blame. After being locked up in a cell figuratively relying on bread and water (actually it was mostly liquid based food but Shahra hadn't really paid much attention) and then spending another week _literally_ relying on bread and water (well, kharosh rather than bread actually and therefore even worse), her body had probably been getting rather tired of it. To be suddenly called upon to travel miles daily couldn't have been easy.

Yet that too was unlikely, or at least Shahra liked to consider that to be the case. After all, one had to be at least in reasonably good shape to survive a tide of undeath and the subsequent burning of your homeland, not to mention spending four years fighting said tide of undeath (or rather tides as the case was). True, spending the last year in general apathy in Stormwind couldn't have done her state of fitness any good but even so, to have descended this far…By the Sunwell, the trek to Nethergarde wasn't nearly as bad as this.

"_Or maybe it's just the kharosh," _Shahra reflected bitterly, blanching at the mere thought of the disgusting grey bread. Leo gave a look at concern (_"understandable, given that incident four days ago…") _but was satisfied with the elf giving him a small smile of reassurance. The status quo thus returned to normal, the human walking ahead silently, a high elf leaning her head against his left shoulder, her right arm stretched around his neck for support.

Kharosh…Shahra had managed to go without it for the first day but failed spectacularly on the second, biting off half a piece of the grey bread in one go. She'd regretted it a second later, the bitter, pepper-like taste kicking in en masse. Swigging down half a flask of water later, the experience had been lessened enough so that suicide was no longer the only option that she considered. The end result was a lot of coughing on her part and a barrage of irritating yet not unkind laughter from her human companion. Prick…

"_By the Light, I swear I'm going to strangle whatever dwarf ever came up with that dog food," _Shahra mused, not caring if said dwarf was living or dead. True, kharosh had sustained her for four years, but her time in Stormwind had been blissfully free of it. _"Maybe my digestive system is just out of practice…"_

It was a slim possibility, but one that Shahra hoped was the case for her poor feeling over the last half week. Because if it wasn't the kharosh, if it wasn't a poor state of fitness, if it wasn't due to temperature changes, that only left one possibility, one which was perhaps the most undesirable and indeed the most terrifying possibility of all…

Magical addiction.

Two weeks. Two weeks of no meditation whatsoever. Two weeks of vulnerability to not only the curse of the quel'dorei's birthright gone awry but whatever fel magic the Netherstorm and Tempest Keep were infused with. Two weeks of risking falling down the path of depravity and excess that the sin'dorei followed…

Still, Shahra had legitimate cause to believe that this wasn't the case. She remembered the hunger for magic that followed immediately after the destruction of the Sunwell, the intense, gnawing hunger for that which had been infused in the blood of the quel'dorei for thousands of years. For as unwell as she'd been over the last few days, beginning ever since the morning that she'd vomited all over Leo, it was different from what had followed after the fall of Quel'Thalas, different from what was the manifestation of the darker side of high elven birthright, different from what every high elf fought against…

Of course, there _was_ the possibility that the magic of Tempest Keep and the Netherstorm had something to do with it, that it was sustaining her addiction but she didn't want to think about it. Truth was a virtue, but it could also be terrifying…

Besides, Shahra had other things to concentrate on now. Like the hut seen in the distance. Like the void to the south in which an abyss of chaos awaited. Like the fact that she and Leo had reached the southern edge of the Netherstorm with no explanation as to how they were to continue…

* * *

Leo was concerned. 

If someone had asked him why, the human could have answered in a second, but whether he would have was another matter. After all, it didn't really do any good for one's pride that their concern was for an individual who'd been leaning against you for the last few days. While some may have said "aw, cute," and given smiley faces, Leo's train of thought was more along the lines of "how sickening." He knew the type of persona he wanted to convey and acting as a paternal figure was about as far removed from that persona as possible. Still, he'd managed to bear with it. Shahra hadn't violated their earlier agreement in any way and besides, he'd already given her the position of ally on his social ladder.

And allies were individuals that you looked out for, as long as it benefited you. Admittedly how much benefit the high elf could provide was nebulous, but hey, she made a good source of warmth at night…both of them did. Unfortunately, that was where the use ended. For one reason or another, Shahra hadn't been 100 percent over the last few days, namely the cause for his concern. To top it off, her status had prompted a phase of leaning on the human as they walked for support. At first, Leo had been silently livid. This was going to slow them down, perhaps enough for blood elf scouting parties to find them. Still, he'd gone along with it, the arrangement having become such a given that it soon felt…natural, like the elf was simply an extension of his-…

"Where are we?"

Leo snorted. Extensions didn't speak to you suddenly. Well, maybe those on ogres did but that was another matter entirely. He looked down at Shahra, her eyes slowly opening. Same blue light.

"I thought you were asleep," he murmured.

Shahra blinked, probably due to both drowsiness and surprise. "How could I sleep while walking?"

"You managed it yesterday."

Ignoring Shahra's half hearted protests that she'd only been "resting my eyes," Leo let her slide off, smirking as he heard the sound of muscles cracking as she massaged her neck. He looked around, seeing nothing but purple irradiated soil in all directions but south, where nothing but the abyss of the Twisting Nether awaited. The only difference from the rest of the landscape was a single hut situated about twenty meters away from the edge, a barrel of barbed spears with ropes attached to their shafts. Probably hunting spears of some kind, left from the former orc inhabitant.

"_Southern part of the Netherstorm near the orc hut," _Leo reflected. _"Seems to be the right-…"_

"You still haven't answered my question."

Leo turned around, seeing that the elf had finished stretching her neck and regaining awareness. "Where are we?" Shahra repeated.

"Corru Point, the end of the road," grunted Leo, turning back towards the hut. _"Wait for it, wait for it…"_

"End of the road!?" the high elf exclaimed, running after him. "How can this be the end of the road!? We're on the edge of the Netherstorm with nothing to give us access to the lands further south. How the hell are we going to continue? What the hell are you thinking!? Why…wait, why are you smiling?"

Leo had considered himself to be grinning rather than smiling but decided to let it pass. "It's funny," he said slowly. "That even after a week of travel, half of which you were feeling like, and I quote, crap, you still manage to pull yourself back from the abyss and return to your status of whiny bitch." He began to slowly and deliberately clap his hands. "Bravo, Miss Dreamsinger, bravo."

Leo may have continued the charade but seeing the look on his fri…no, _ally's_ face, he stopped short. "Aw, calm down," he said, walking over. "How are you feeling anyway?"

"Fine," Shahra replied hollowly, her eyes locked with the ground.

"Good," murmured Leo, feeling like kicking himself, despite knowing that he'd hardly gone overboard and that if Shahra was some poor oversensitive individual, that was her problem. "Anyway, to answer your question, this is simply a-…"

Something shook.

Leo spun around. "Did you feel that?"

Shahra looked up. "Feel what?"

The ground shook again. "That!" said Leo forcefully.

The quel'dorei looked at the man as if he'd gone mad. "Leo, I haven't felt anything. What the-…"

The ground shook a third time, sending both high elf and human sprawling.

"Ok, I felt that…"

Leo was first to his feet but quickly went back down to ground, kneeling on the barren soil. Elven senses, mainly those of sight and hearing, were generally superior to those of humans, but Leo knew that when it came to instinct, the feeling that came from your gut, he outranked Shahra by far. Applying his gut to his own senses of touch and hearing, looking and feeling the soil, he could hear and feel two things.

The first was that the ground was shaking silently, but rapidly.

The second was that something was coming upwards.

Time seemed to slow for Leo as he rose to his feet, yelling something incomprehensible as he dived into Shahra, landing on top of her, his hands not really being placed in the most modest of places. Ignoring her protests he turned back to his former location, not regretting his sudden action. After all, a giant _thing_ had just burst out of the ground.

And said thing was looking in their direction.

* * *

Shahra was terrified. 

A small part of the high elf's mind chastised her for this, pointing out that fear was something that no true warrior should feel. The rest of her mind however, quickly told the smartarse part to "shut up and go rot in hell." After all, when face with a giant _thing _that had just burst out of the ground, said thing being around twenty feet tall and perhaps twenty-four feet long, she had every reason to be frightened.

Especially when said thing gave a roar and charged at her.

To her surprise, it missed. Landing on the ground, she couldn't comprehend this. After all, she'd just been standing there, too terrified to…wait, landed?

"Are you insane!?" Leo shouted, quickly rising from the ground and dusting himself off. "What the hell do you think you're doing!? Don't you remember what I told you on the first night!?"

"…"

Leo sighed. "That you do exactly what I say, exactly when I say it!"

The high elf recoiled slightly, only now fully comprehending that Leo had dived into her to prevent the _thing_ from trampling her into the dust. But even so…

"But…but you haven't told me to do anything yet," she whispered.

Leo went to say something, stopped, then thought better of it. "I shouldn't have too." Sighing, his visage softened.

"Just stay out of the way," he murmured, before turning back to face the _thing_, said thing now facing him too. He drew out the blood elf shortsword he'd obtained from Tempest Keep, seemingly intent on…

"Oh hell no," Shahra whispered. "And he calls _me_ insane?"

If someone had asked Leo had felt then and there he would have promptly told the person that this was hardly the time or place.

The first reason was that he wasn't really sure how he felt. On one hand, he was frustrated about how idiotic that donkey eared brat could be, simply standing there when a behemoth was barreling towards her. On the other, he was relieved that he'd managed to get her out of the way. On one hand, he was frustrated that it was only at the end of the journey that he had to deal with a challenge. On the other, he was damn near terrified that said challenge consisted of a dragon turtle; basically a living siege weapon used by the naga. Red scaly skin, beady green eyes, a giant shell and breath to stank to high heaven, it wasn't something that he would relish facing even with an army behind him.

It was lucky that the human didn't go beyond four hands as the dragon turtle was now charging at him. Slowly spinning around his shortsword he stood his ground. Attacking the shell would be useless and while the turtle's four stubby legs were fairly exposed, they were hardly an accessible target. That left only the head…

…which was now bearing down at him at a frightening speed, fangs showing.

Leo smirked, reflecting that there was often a fine line between insanity and bravery and right now he had no clue which side he was on. He suspected the behemoth did though; a dragon turtle bearing down on a simple human was akin to a falcon bearing down on a worm. The problem with the metaphor however, was that worms didn't throw shortswords at falcons only fifteen feet away, hitting them in the forehead. And falcons didn't roar in pain.

And worms certainly didn't run at falcons, yank shortswords out of their foreheads and proceed to stab their eyes out.

It was a simple plan but Leo had little time to think of a better one. Fighting the dragon turtle was the only way to survive as there was nowhere to hide from it for miles and the notion of outrunning it was laughable. Unfortunately, fighting the monster didn't give him much chance either. The only thing that could, note, _could_, give them a chance was blinding it. At best, it would stagger around blindly into the abyss of the Twisting Nether. At the least, it would buy them some time.

Leo's aim had been off slightly when he threw the sword, missing the right eye by a few inches. Still, it had been enough to slow the monstrosity, allowing the human to run up, jump on the turtle's head and carry out the initial objective in close quarters.

"_This may be a blessing in disguise," _Leo thought to himself. "_At this proximity I can perhaps take out both its lights and-…"_

It was at this point that the turtle threw its head back with a roar, sending Leo flying back over its shell.

"_Or not…"_

Leo had no idea how he managed to do it, how he managed to grab part of the turtle's shell as he flew through the air. He had even less of an idea how he managed to hold on with only one hand as the turtle began thrashing around, his sword in the other.

"_Shit, SHIT __**SHIT!**__"_

Ineloquent thinking but Leo was in a world of shit right now and he knew it. He couldn't hold on for long before he lost his grip, where he would be sent flying off the edge or onto the ground, only to be trampled upon.

"_So this is how it ends," _thought the human, reflecting how he'd come up with dozens of ideal deaths at one point and how being trampled to death or falling into the Twisting Nether weren't among them. _"Wonder what Shahra's…"_

Leo trailed off, the issue of the question bearing down on him. What _was_ Shahra doing? Despite the churning feeling in his stomach, despite the fact that he was hanging on for dear life, Leo looked around for the answer to his question…

…and soon found it.

"By the Light…" Leo breathed as he saw what the elf was doing. "Is she _insane_?"

* * *

When Shahra had first met Leonard Ragoa he had struck her as a snide, arrogant jerk who was either so short sighted that he couldn't tell the difference between a quel'dorei and sin'dorei or _could_ tell the difference and wanted to give her a hard time over the issue for the sake of it. Even when traveling together, even when they'd relied on each other's body heat in the dead of night, when she had leaned on him for support, a small part of that initial impression remained. 

Now however, things were different. Because a person who faced down a giant turtle and managed to lodge a sword in its temple had her respect, regardless of his character.

The feeling of awe hadn't lasted long however, Leo now holding on to the turtle's shell for dear life. She could tell that he'd had a plan, presumably immobilizing the turtle from range and then dealing with it in close quarters. Unfortunately it had backfired horrendously, the monster catapulting him upwards. Even with his strength, the high doubted that he could hold on long before being cast off in some form or another.

And she had no idea what to do about it.

"_Maybe it comes from being a blonde," _the elf thought, brushing some sweat drenched hair from her eyes. It was a poor joke and she knew it, but it was a necessary evil given the circumstances in order to keep her nerve. True, Leo may have told her to stay out of the way, but he was in no position to give demands now. As far as Shahra was concerned, his initial order had been rendered void.

Problem was, the quel'dorei had no idea what to do with her new freedom. She was completely unarmed and even if Leo could cast down the blade to her, she doubted that there was much, if anything, that she could do with it. The soil was completely featureless, no rocks, no sticks, nothing to get the monster's attention. The only feature on the whole blasted landscape was an orc hut which…

…this had a barrel of hunting spears next to it.

Chastising herself for not thinking of this sooner Shahra ran over, the roars of the behemoth ringing in her pointed ears. She pulled one out, feeling its weight and texture. It had obviously been designed for orc hunting, the rope at the end presumably being there to prevent the prey from moving and/or to easily pull the spear out, causing more trauma to the animal in the process. Although elves had always relied on bows for hunting, thinking of other contraptions as primitive, Shahra had to admit that she was impressed.

The problem with using the spears however, was primarily that they'd been designed for use by an orc, not a high elf. Shahra had never seen one of the greenskins up close and had no particular desire to, but understood that their strength lay in just that; strength. The spears, while crafted for throwing, had been made with the strength and hand size of an orc in mind, not a high elf who could barely carry one, let alone throw it.

"_Can I really consider this a weapon?" _Shahra wondered, unsure as to her ability to use it properly. The turtle roared in response, still trying to get Leo off.

"_Guess so."_

Lifting one of the spears out of the barrel, the elf gazed at the turtle, too focused on getting the human off its back to pay attention to anything else. Taking a deep breath, Shahra grasped the spear in what she hoped was a correct stance…and charged.

"Bash'a no falor talah!" (_Taste the chill of true death!)_ Shahra shouted, moments before the spear drove into the size of the monster's head. Letting out a roar of pain, it stopped thrashing and turned to face its assailant swiftly, the shaft of the spear snapping as it did so.

"Um, hello…" said Shahra awkwardly.

"**RWARRR!"**

Sent skidding across the ground by the worst breath imaginable Shahra quickly realized a flaw in her plan. The spear could cause pain to the…thing, but could not penetrate its skull. It had been crafted for causing trauma to grazing animals, having a blunt tip rather than a sharp one. As such, it stood no chance of doing lasting damage. Regardless, the quel'dorei quickly rose to her feet…

…and fell back down again, narrowly avoiding a boulder sent flying over her.

Under normal circumstances, Shahra would have been amazed that a giant turtle could literally spit out boulders, using them as a projectile for battle. Still, with said giant turtle bearing down on her, a turtle that not only looked angry but looked hungry also, these were hardly normal circumstances.

"_So this is how it ends," _the elf thought sadly. _"Eaten by a giant turtle on a world on the other side of the universe. How sickening."_

It looked that way too, considering that the monster had reached her, its fangs barred, its jaw bearing in to-…

* * *

"**RWARRR!"**

Leo was surprised that he could cause that much pain to the dragon turtle by jumping on its skull, but then again, it was bleeding heavily from two areas in its head. Maybe it was to be expected. Or he was overweight. Preferably the former.

Leo wasn't sure what he thought exactly when he saw Shahra running towards the leviathan with a throwing spear, a spear that, from the looks of things, she could barely carry. Something along the lines of _"What the hell is that elf doing!? How could anyone be so stupid!?" _ran through his head for the most part. Still, he was pretty sure that _"Lordaeron's ghost, she's trying to save me and is going to get herself killed in the process!" _ran through his mind at some point, especially when the turtle actually closed in on her. A small thought, but one that had led to him being less angry. Flattered even. And concerned.

Shahra's heart had been in the right place but the spear wasn't. It was a hunting spears, designed to lodge in the muscle rather than penetrate it. Even if Leo wielded one himself he knew that there was precious little he could do. Sure, he could throw it just as well as an orc (well, that's what he told himself) but it would do no lasting damage to the dragon turtle, its skull too thick for the spear to reach its brain. In a sense, it was unstoppable.

But the dragon turtle had made a key error in slowly plodding towards the elf that had assailed it. It had forgotten that there was a human on its back, one which it had been trying to shake off for the past half minute and had very nearly succeeded. However, with the beast plodding slowly to feast on elf meat, it had given Leo time to regain his balance and swallow the bile that had been building up in his esophagus. He couldn't afford to vomit. Not yet at least.

It also gave him time to jump on the turtle's head as it neared Shahra, causing it to roar in pain. Nothing drastic, but enough for him to jump off, yank the elf to her feet and gain some distance…

…and berate her for the most foolhardy thing he had ever seen.

"**What the hell do you think you're doing!?" **shouted Leo. **"I told you to stay out of the way and obey my instructions! Next thing I know, you're running at a monster with a spear you can barely wield, hoping to-…"**

Shahra slapped him.

Leo recoiled, lifting his hand to his left cheek. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd been slapped by…well, anyone, let alone a high elf who was looking at him like…well, it was hard to say.

"You said on the first night that we were allies," whispered Shahra, her shining blue eyes locked into the human's grey ones. "And allies look out for each other."

It was at this point that Leo realized three things. The first was that, in an instant, Shahra had undoubtedly reached the level of "comrade" in his personal hierarchy and perhaps above. The second was that he would have to tell her this at the earliest opportunity. The third was that to do this, he would have to deal with the dragon turtle…

…this was slowly bearing down on them.

"_What can I do though?" _the human wondered hopelessly. _"Taking it on in close quarters is suicide. The sword is too narrow to reach its eyes, the spears aren't designed for…"_

He trailed off, another realization forming in his mind. Both he and Shahra had been off in their methods of attack. Throwing a sword was too risky and too narrow to blind it, an objective which Leo saw as their only hope. The spear couldn't possibly penetrate its skull and would simply get lodged in.

But when one combined them together…

Leo darted to the barrel of spears, picking up one of them. Although heavy and not designed for human hands, he was confident as to his ability to throw it correctly.

"Leo, what are you doing?" Shahra asked. "The spears can't-…"

"I'm combining the best of two worlds," Leo murmured. "And relying on luck," he added as an afterthought. "Lots of it."

Leo faced down the monster, both human and…thing facing each other with…well, not respect, but certainly a weary understanding. Leo neither knew nor cared what the turtle was doing here, as to how it could bury itself underground. He had other things to worry about, namely a plan that would see this thing dead or see a human and high elf devoured, trampled upon or any number of various, unpleasant deaths. It was all or nothing…

With a yell, Leo threw the spear.

The first part of his gamble paid off, the yell spurring the turtle into charging him, gaining the momentum he wanted. The second part paid off too, the spear impaling the dragon turtle through its left eye, or at least close enough to get that effect. Regardless, it was ripped out a second later, courtesy of Leo using the rope that extended from the shaft.

That was where the combination idea paid off. Leo had good aim, but nowhere near good enough to throw a sword designed for close combat into a target less than thirty ten centimeters wide. The spear, while not having the same penetrating abilities as the sword, gave him a much wider margin of error.

It also pissed off the turtle enough to keep it charging at him. Even after Leo started running, the monster followed. Leo smiled faintly, the third part of his gamble paying off. The dragon turtle, while a killing machine that feasted on the flesh of its enemies, had a few key weaknesses, one of them being its perception.

Its eyes were on the side of its head. Not the front.

The difference between eyes on the front of a head and on its side is a subtle but significant one. It is seen among the animal kingdom that predators have their eyes at the front, ranging from the wolves of the Horde to the sabers that the night elves rode. This is due to the fact that both species are carnivorous, and having eyes at their front gives them depth perception, allowing them to make judgments as to the distance of their prey.

Having eyes at the side has both advantages and disadvantages. It is advantageous in that it gives the animal arc perception, allowing it to see things all around them simultaneously. In essence, it allows such an animal to see something to its side as easily as something in front of it. Such a configuration is therefore common in herbivorous animals such as mice and horses, animals which have to worry about animals higher up the food chain.. Having eyes at their sides allows them to catch sight of predators more easily. The _disadvantage_ however, is that it denies them perception of depth.

The dragon turtle was a mighty predator, no doubt about it. But it had come from simpler creatures, those which did not feed on flesh. As such, its eyes were still on the side of its head, an evolutionary throwback, denying it depth perception.

And considering that it was chasing after a human on a flat plain with a distinct drop with no slope, not to mention that one of its eyes had been rendered useless, depth perception was what it needed right now. Denied that however, it kept chasing Leo, not seeing the drop. With half its sight removed, it came as little surprise to the human that the dragon turtle did not slow down as it reached the edge…

…an edge that it barreled straight off, the human having rolled aside.

Leo knew exactly how he felt. Jubilant.

It an unoriginal gamble, that of tricking a foe to fall off the edge, no doubt about it. But having trekked across the Netherstorm for a week only to come across a demon from hell (heck, for all he knew that could be literal), he was simply too tired to care about originality.

Leo, his clothes torn in a few areas, his face dusty, his beard interwoven with Light knew what, knew _exactly_ what he wanted; sleep, beer and a shave, though not necessarily in that order. First of all he would…

…deal with the high elf that had come running up to him and thrown her arms around him like some crazed fangirl.

"That. Was. INSANE," said Shahra slowly, possessing surprising strength when it came to hugging someone. "It was…it was…"

"Let's leave it at insane," Leo murmured, prizing her arms off him. While a small part of his mind enjoyed the adoration, the rest of his mind was too tired to follow suit. All he wanted to do was sleep right now, wait for…well, whoever was coming. Still, he had a few things to take care of first…

"Anyway, you helped," the human said as he began walking to the orc hut, hoping that there was a bed in there.

"Helped?" Shahra asked, following him like a dog. "All I did was-…"

"You stopped the dragon turtle from throwing me off," Leo interrupted. "And before you go on about how I've saved your arse plenty of times (_"which I have," the back of his mind reminded him)_, I'll simply say that I'm grateful, enough to consider you a comrade."

Leo was glad that he'd satisfied his conscience in elevating the elf's status in that he could now sleep with a clear mind. Unfortunately, the quel'dorei did not seem to take it in the same way he anticipated.

"Comrade?" asked Shahra, raising an eyebrow as she came to a stop by the hut. "What do you mean by that?"

Leo sighed. "Remember on that first night, when I said you were an ally? Well comrade is on the level above."

"And after that?"

"Friend," said Leo, wondering why the elf couldn't just shut up. "Which, speaking objectively, shouldn't take…Shahra? You alright?"

* * *

Shahra didn't how she felt. She didn't know how _anything_ felt. 

Everything…so blurry all of a sudden. The voice of the…person…by her. Like a tunnel…wait, what was a tunnel?

A sound…something that came from her…how did that happen? Odd…why was there…red stuff on her hand? Why so woozy all of a sudden?

"_Shelter," _she thought, seeing the wooden thing by her. _"Need shelter…or lie in red stuff. Like red stuff on hand."_

She staggered, the rectangular thing coming open. Pain…in her stomach…so much pain…pain…lots of pain…wait, what was pain? Why more red stuff on floor? Dots of red stuff…why cough? Why even more red stuff? Red stuff was sin'dorei stuff…bad stuff…

"_Bed," _she thought, seeing the thing miles away on the other side of the wooden thing's interior. _"Need bed…"_

Pain…more pain…more red stuff. Strange voice…familiar…yet distant… Bed so far away…need bed…want bed…more red stuff…wait…floor…wood floor…so close all of a sudden…rushing up to meet her…pain in face…more red stuff…

Darkness.

* * *

Leo had no idea what had just happened. 

All of a sudden Shahra, her eyes glazed, had started staggering around, not responding to anything he said. Next thing he knew she was coughing up blood…a lot of it.

He'd kept his distance and regretted it, Shahra staggering in, coughing some more, then falling onto the floor. Kneeling down he turned her over, checking her eyes. Simply white...Concerned, he felt her neck, checking her pulse. It was low…so low that it was a wonder that she was still alive, her breathing regular, but shallow.

"_Assuming that she really __**is **__still alive," _the human thought, his weariness having evaporated. Could this be an extension of her earlier illness? Unlikely. Vomit and sweating were a long way from this kind of reaction and he'd been feeling the same way too.

And besides, there was one more disturbing aspect, the most disturbing one of all. The blood that she'd coughed up…it looked and felt coagulated…

…and blood didn't do that until after you were dead.

* * *

**A/N**

_Although there may be exceptions at times for various reasons, I've decided to merge 'issue responses' with the A/N section. Anyway, here's said responses;_

_-The infodumps are there for a few reasons. The first is part of a personal stance on writing, that even in fanon, it should be made relatively accessible to those unfamiliar to the media. Granted, this isn't really needed in fanon writing and no, I'm not going to narrate the entire history of Azeroth, but I'd rather do 'good' writing than make assumptions, plunging into the story with no backstory given._

_The other reason is to provide takes on certain aspects of Warcraft lore. Quite a bit has been provided on the events of the pre-Burning Crusade patch, the one which had the Dark Portal opening event. WoW is good and all, but can't really convey a distinct take on world events. Think about future Warcraft lore, what's better? Illidan was killed by a band of adventurers? Or Illidan was killed by Maiev and Akama? The latter is better as it has a distinct take on history. The info dumps are my own takes, Nethergarde partially being a take on WC2, although made redundant partly by the Tides of Darkness novelisation._

_Anyway, there probably won't be that many more, although still expect to see them in some form or another. Hyperion being 'integrated' into the events of 'The Frozen Throne' in this chapter is one such example._

_-The traveller, as mentioned, was meditating when Leo escaped Tempest Keep, but snapped out of it in time to see the strangulation scene. Still, he pretty much knows where Leo is going._

_-Eldin Sunstrider? Hmm, maybe. Of course, for all you guys know, I don't even consider him canon and was making a reference? Anyway, all I will say is that such a question is answered in the course of the story._

_-Shahra, as stated in chapter 8, is 111 years old, which puts her as being one year into adulthood. My take on the conflicting adulthood ages for high elves is expressed in chapter 9. As for knowing stuff…well, she reads a lot. A bookworm as the case is._

_Anyway, as for this chapter;_

_-Garosh was something I wanted included from the start as a small parody on the lembas bread from LotR. It was also necessary to explain how Leo and Shahra could survive a week in the Netherstorm. Unlike lembas however, I wanted it to taste like crap; a little sadistic quirk I guess._

_Unfortunately, when I named it garosh, I forgot about the orc Garrosh Hellscream, son of Grom Hellscream. Having dwarf bread sharing the name, or at least having a REALLY similar one could lead to implications in this and other stories, or references I'd have to keep bringing up, something that I didn't want. As such, I decided to change it to 'kharosh', keeping in with the 'kha' aspect of dwarf language (eg. Khaz Modan)._

_-Seems odd that I brought in a dragon turtle, not to mention that it can bury itself? This actually stems from a blunder I made…a big one._

_When drafting this story, for some bizarre reason, I thought that Outland still had seas, conveniently forgetting that it's just a hunk of rock floating in space. As such, I'd planned a sea based battle, Leo and Shahra being in a boat. I realised this in time though…around chapter 6._

_Anyway, I changed the storyline around to fit it; a land based battle instead, put the orc hut in the Netherstorm, changed the traveller's route, made up a series of monologues, replaced a fight with an ogre with something else and gave the traveller an earlier 'proper' appearance. MUCH earlier._

_In the end though, I kept the dragon turtle. Felt… 'attached' to it. Go figure._


	11. Two is Company, Three's a Crowd

**Denial**

**Chapter 11: Two is Company, Three's a Crowd**

Astaroth hated Hyperion the moment he saw him.

Hate was not an emotion new to the demon lord of Fort Elron, or former lord as the case had become. Hate and rage had become givens in the existence of eredar ever since they had made their pact with Sargeras, leader of the Burning Legion, twenty-five thousand years ago, choosing a path that would give them power and knowledge. In those twenty-five thousand years, Astaroth, red skinned, yellow eyed and ten feet tall, currently standing in the fort's 'throne room', had obtained an ample supply of both.

It was also the indirect root of his latest source of hate.

"Your prince is having…issues, I take it?" the demon asked eventually, looking up from the parchment the spineless worm had given him. Despite the galling circumstances, it was best to be diplomatic. For now at least.

"More than you know," the astromancer murmured, looking upwards to meet the demon's gaze. "The issue of your loyalty is but one of them."

"Of course it is," the eredar murmured, incinerating the piece of paper with passive vengeance. "With people like you in his ranks, I suppose I fare poorly?"

Hyperion remained silent, Astaroth sensing that he'd struck a nerve. As a master of magic, as a member of one of the most powerful races in the universe, not to mention of the Burning Legion also, Astaroth liked to consider himself above petty revenge. But even so, that this…thing, this little, pale skinned _usurper_ in his presence…he felt that he could make an exception. Many of them.

"_You knew this was coming though," _camea voice from the back of the demon's mind. Astaroth found himself agreeing. Only those of the Legion could comprehend the true meaning of power. Mortal races failed to grasp it fully and as a consequence, sought to flaunt it.

"_And this__ is the result," _the warlock mused, tilting his head like a cat who'd been confronted with a mouse who'd said "don't eat me or you'll regret it." _"The Lord of Tempest Keep, seeking to flaunt his self-perceived power, thinking that asserting himself will make his position stronger, replaces me with this…thing."_

It had admittedly come as a surprise to the demon when two dragonhawks landed in the courtyard. Fort Elron was isolated from the rest of Outland, an inconspicuous piece of rock in a sea of irradiated soil. As such, it rarely received visitors and when it did, they tended to be those delivering foodstuffs for the establishment's soldiers. Astaroth was incapable of experiencing wonder in the superfluous sense; it had been part of what he'd sacrificed when he'd accepted Sargeras' offer back on Argus. Even so, he did wonder at the utilitarian level as to why a blood elf and fel orc were at his abode.

He'd quickly been given the answer.

"Yes, I suppose you do fare poorly," Hyperion said, lifting the demon out of its thought-stream. "Which is why I'm here, to ensure that-…"

"Oh spare me," Astaroth growled, the sound seemingly reverberating from his very being rather than any vocal chords. "You hate being here, so you attempt to fill in the void with authority." He leered down at the miniscule elf, closing some of the four feet height difference. "Trust me in this, Astromancer Hyperion Lightwind. You're failing."

Hyperion once again fell silent, just as Astaroth expected. He could see Hyperion for what he was; a spineless sycophant, the type of person who sucked up to people for personal gain. Yet he tried to hide this trait, attempting to fool those that he was an independent individual, one who could make his own way through the world without relying on the charity of others. A person who attempted to delude even himself that this was the case, and succeeded for the most part.

As power personified, Astaroth despised this.

"You're entitled to think what you want," Hyperion murmured eventually.

"You have my thanks," said the eredar sarcastically, bowing down to the sin'dorei so that their visages were at the same height. As he rose the eredar turned to the axe wielding fel orc who'd been standing by silently.

"Et tu Brute?" Astaroth asked, turning to the redskin. "What brings you to this place?"

Unlike Hyperion, Tartarus could not only meet the eredar's gaze on a roughly horizontal level, but meet it with pride also. Astaroth gave a small nod that only the orc, his attention focussed on the demon, could see. A subtle mark of respect.

"I go where war takes me," Tartarus murmured. "Where those worthy of my attention are present."

Hyperion snorted at this but the two chaos-powered beings ignored him. "And Fort Elron is your choice _why_, exactly?"

Tartarus shrugged. "Prince Kael'thas bid it so. And as my master, I obeyed him. I therefore-…"

"Well _I _am your master now," Hyperion interrupted, stepping in-between the warlock and warrior, looking akin to a twig between two falcons. "Kael'thas is away in Tempest Keep Tartarus. Not here." He straightened himself up further. "Here, I rule Tartarus, not you. Here, I'm your _god_."

"And what would my _god_ have me do?" Tartarus sneered.

"Leave us," said Hyperion simply. "Your presence sickens me."

Tartarus looked from Hyperion to Astaroth, gave a small grin to the latter, then turned back to the blood elf. Giving a mock bow, he silently walked out. Astaroth turned sharply to face Hyperion.

"You're truly pathetic, you realise that?"

Hyperion turned equally sharply to face him. "Watch your tongue demon, or you'll find that it's missing."

The eredar chuckled. "Spare me. Asserting your authority is just as much a farce as dismissing Tartarus."

"I-…"

"You've always despised Tartarus, correct?" Astaroth continued. "Wondered what an orc, a supposed lesser creature was doing in Tempest Keep? You always despised him, as you were confronted by someone with a backbone." He leered closer. "How does it feel to get revenge, little elf? How does power feel?"

Hyperion remained silent, even after Astaroth withdrew himself to full height. Not that looking up at an eredar was particularly comforting, the elite of the Burning Legion being equally proficient in martial and tactical prowess, but it was certainly better than having a creature come down to your level…feeling as if your entire soul was under scrutiny by callous beings, creatures that would pay no more attention to the word of a sentient being any more than the sentient creature would to an ant on his or her boot.

Yet even removed from scrutiny, silence still existed. The drab 'throne room', so named as a golden throne was indeed present which stood in contrast to the rock walls, seemed to close in on them, or at least on the blood elf. It was as if a pack of wolves were closing in on the astromancer, and Astaroth was the alpha male.

"Follow me," said Astaroth suddenly, his voice coming out as something akin to a purr. Some part of Hyperion's mind urged him to point out that the warlock had no authority over him, that it was _he_, Astromancer Hyperion Lightwind, who was giving the orders, but something, possibly survival instinct, held him back. He followed Astaroth onto the balcony, looking out from the keep over the courtyard.

"This," said Astaroth grandually, making a gesture with a clawed hand, "is your domain, passed down from me to you by orders from our common superior."

Even from a distance, the difference between the two magic-users was stark. Astaroth, red skinned and golden eyed stood tall and proud, a dark blue cape blowing in the wind, gold plate armour covering his chest. In comparison, Hyperion, green eyed and paled skinned, appeared akin to a child. The wind seemingly refused to pick up his blood red cape, his posture not ninety degrees.

"Courtesy of a lack of reports, and from what I understand, insubordination, Kael'thas has seen fit to bequeath Fort Elron to you," Astaroth, glancing at the astromancer. "How does it feel, little elf, to have hundreds of soldiers and thousands of slaves at your command? Do you feel like _god _then?"

Hyperion glanced at him, faint memories of the beliefs of Northshire Abby surfacing in his memory; the idea of a single, all-powerful entity. "You believe in a god, demon?"

"Yes," said Astaroth simply. "His name is Sargeras."

Hyperion involuntarily flinched at the name, a movement not going unnoticed by the eredar. He smirked.

"Of course, when applied in the context of the singular creation myth, that is not true," Astaroth continued. "But we may as well the consider the Dark Titan a god, no? Power is relative after all."

"Of course," murmured Hyperion. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"

Astaroth remained silent, the astromancer pleased to see that this time, _he_ had succeeded in striking a nerve. He knew about Astaroth of course, about how he could be considered an unlucky demon.

"You are correct," asserted Astaroth eventually. "Which makes me superior to you."

"Superior!?" Hyperion exclaimed. "And how is_ that_, exactly? I just usurped your rule, you red skinned-…"

"You are in a position that you do not want," Astaroth interrupted, his golden eyes blazing. "Therefore, you seek to flaunt your power. That's all there is to it, _elf_."

"I-…"

"Your dismissal of Tartarus was driven by nothing more than jealousy," Astaroth continued. "Jealousy begets hatred. Hatred begets irrationality. Irrationality begets instability. And instability begets a fall."

"What about you then?" the sin'dorei exclaimed, his green eyes now blazing in turn. "How does a hate filled demon like yourself manage to avoid a fall?"

Astaroth threw his head back and laughed, the unearthly sound seemingly caught by the wind and amplified by equally unearthly forces. "Because I know how to channel hatred and power, paleskin, an ability that has resulted in me claiming the souls of one thousand, six hundred and sixty five mortals." He stopped chuckling and gazed back at Hyperion. "Power and hatred are aspects that I have the ability to use appropriately. Unlike you, however…"

Hyperion was trying to form words but failing to do so. Probably because he didn't want to become victim No. 1,666. Astaroth therefore continued talking, turning back to look over the courtyard as he did so.

"Power is relative, defined by the position an individual holds," the demon said, as if reminiscing on long lost times. "Remember, little elf, that power is a means to an end, not an end in itself. Forget this and embrace pride, and the fall awaits you. And while this fortress possesses a few of your own kind, the majority is made up of far more competent individuals, none of which will be willing to catch you."

Hyperion had given up trying to form words and was simply standing there silently. Astaroth turned back to him and smiled.

"I take my leave," said the eredar, the demon performing a mock bow. He proceeded to walk back into the keep, intent on seeking out Tartarus. Unlike the astromancer, the fel orc had potential…

Despite his change of circumstances, Astaroth was pleased. Hyperion may have been a worm, but he was at least one which could grow a backbone; a trait which served Astaroth well. Not that it would last though. After all, two was company, but three was a crowd. And in their little triangle of power, between demon, orc and blood elf, the astromancer was the oddity. Astaroth therefore knew what he would do, a task which he had already started. He would build up the astromancer's backbone…

…and then he would _break it_.

* * *

_The Dark Portal._

_It was a gateway of paradox. It gazed out over the Black Morass like a silent sentinel, yet offered no protection. It was grand, yet horrifying. It was elegant, yet hideous. However, there was at least _one _constant…_

_It was something that should never have existed._

_Despite the resolve that had seen her through Nethergarde, the same resolve (and a bit of pride) that saw her continue her trek alone, Shahra Dreamsinger felt her will falter at the sight of the…thing. Opened nearly three decades ago through a joint effort between the Sargeras-possessed Medivh and the orc warlock Gul'dan, it had provided the Old Horde entry into Azeroth, setting the course of history. A baleful green glow shone from the gateway, flanked by two silent statues. Power and twisted majesty were radiated from the structure._

_It would never close. The tear in reality between the worlds Azeroth and Draenor, now known as Outland, would always exist, even if the gateway itself didn't. Even after stygian night had descended upon the universe, after both worlds had crumbled into nothingness, the light of madness would continue to shine. The Dark Portal would always be there, _always_ be a threat to order, whether it be through the suicidal actions of the warlock Ner'zhul or the more recent ones by Lord Kazzak._

"_And that's why I'm here," Shahra reminded herself, keeping her feet from turning in the other direction. "I'm here to see if some of the danger is real or false." Of course, there were other, more personal reasons, a fact reflected by the reduced glow in her eyes, a glow that she hoped would not be changed into something else. Something that she did not want to be. Something that was a physical embodiment of everything the Dark Portal was associated with._

_Silently, she began to walk, first across the barren soil, then up the smoother but equally foreboding ramp to the gateway. The high elf averted her gaze from the guardians, unable to shake the feeling that they were more than statues, that they would suddenly come to life, grasp their swords and use them. The coiled snakehead above the gateway did not help matters either_

_Yet nothing could compare with the gateway itself. Standing just in front of it, Shahra knew that she was looking into…what? Eternity? Hell? Something that defied mortal comprehension? She did not know. Knowledge could be gained through power and power could be gained through knowledge. Yet the portal was power alone, separating itself from knowledge and spitting on it. It was something that should not exist, yet did so. Shahra shook her head. She knew exactly what it was._

Anathema.

_An anathema that, after steeling her mind and body, she walked through._

_The passage between worlds was as unnatural as the entrance. It was like…falling through a combination of air, water and heat; the type of feeling one gets when standing in front of a fire. Yet it was not unpleasant. It was…nothing._

_At least until the odd flicker of vision and a bump at the end of the passage._

_Shahra quickly realised too things. The first was that she was indeed in Outland, indicated by the floating rock, red sky and general alien feeling. The second, far more foreboding realisation was that she was not alone._

_Armour clad blood elves…towering demons…snake things that she did not recognise…it all were gathered around the portal on Outland's side, as if…no, that was impossible. It was as if they were waiting for her._

_Such was the shock that Shahra did nothing nor said anything as they rushed forward, weapons at the ready, yet not with the intent of murder, but rather capture. It was a surreal feeling somehow, the knowledge that an entire world was figuratively against you. Blood elf…demon…other…things…it was almost unfair._

_It was seconds before she lost consciousness, only hearing a single voice before slipping into darkness…_

"**Behold the microcosm of your existence."**

* * *

Shahra awoke with a start, a spring and given the shelf situated above the bed she was in, a sore head. 

In an instant she'd fallen back on the mattress, a combination of pain and exhaustion, the latter of both the mental and physical kind. The quel'dorei barely registered this pain or fatigue however, her mind instead being occupied with a single question…what had happened?

In a sense that question applied to two cases; what was she doing in a bed and what had happened in her dream? Closing her eyes, the high elf resolved to deal with the latter question first; easier to answer and less disconcerting.

"_There's only one explanation," _thought Shahra bitterly, reflecting on the moment she left the hellish Black Morass of Azeroth for the even more hellish region known as Hellfire Peninsula. _"Outland's out to get me. Or at least its inhabitants…"_

Sighing, the elf turned over slightly, clutching the sheets of the bed like a child who'd just had a bad dream. She wasn't completely happy with the analogy; she wasn't a child (at least in her own mind) and it wasn't a dream that she'd just experienced. It was simply a memory and an unpleasant one at that.

"_Guess this proves the notion that the road from Nethergarde is the highway to hell," _the quel'dorei reflected, silently marvelling at how the memory had captured her experience so…perfectly. Everything, apart from the slight blur of vision, had been perfect, ranging from the feeling of falling through eternity to those who awaited her at eternity's end. Those who had claimed Outland as their own…

Shahra gripped the blanket tighter, but out of rage rather than fear. It was typical really. The sin'dorei had taken the high elven world and turned it into their own version of 'culture'. It was morbidly appropriate that they'd react with force to any true son or daughter of Quel'Thalas who tried to enter it, Outland acting as the perfect representation of what the "Children of Blood" represented, along with demons and snake-men. Demon whores and snake sluts. A personification of the notion that the end justifies the means.

Shahra knew this, just as much knowing what separated high elven culture from its more hedonistic counterpart. To a blood elf, an individual that was part of a greater whole of hedonism and power lust, all were one. To a high elf, an individual who sought solitude to deal with their common blessing and curse, one was all.

Nothing would ever change that.

It was this knowledge she belonged in the latter category that gave Shahra the strength to rise up, taking care to avoid the shelf above. The elf looked around the room, her mind now set on the second question and the ones which stemmed from it.

"_What am I doing in a bed?" _she wondered. _"Where am I? What time is it? Where's Leo? What about the…thing?"_

The elf wasn't exactly sure what the giant turtle was, but "giant thing" seemed to be a good set of adjectives. Massaging her temples, she closed her eyes again, trying to remember what had happened. They'd managed to defeat the "giant thing", said thing going off the ledge into oblivion. After that…

Blood…

Pain…

Darkness…

Shahra shook her head. Something had happened after that. Something that, as far as memory served, involved her coughing up blood and unconsciousness. Something that, she was willing to bet wound her up in this bed. But where exactly was…Wait a minute. What was that _smell_?

"_Of course," _the high elf thought, remembering vaguely how she'd staggered into the orc hut after the spasms had started. _"I'm in an orc's bed in an orc hut on the edge of the Netherstorm, no doubt courtesy of a certain cave dweller."_

It would have been a simple effort for Leo to lift her off the floor but Shahra still felt absurdly grateful.

For the dwelling of an axe-wielding savage who'd stank to high heaven in its day, the bed was surprisingly comfortable. Still, she had to admit, her assessment was perhaps not entirely fair. Shahra was under little delusion that she was beginning to smell like a troll and, Sunwell forbid, look like one too. Her hair, which had been let loose by the removal of the hair band and now stretched down the back of her neck, felt lank and dirty.

Shahra slowly rose out of the bed, twisting the blue fabric of the headband in her fingers idly. Truth be told, it wasn't her colour of choice; the elf had always felt that red was more suited to gold, blue being too…passive. Of course, a high elf wearing red wasn't exactly the smartest thing to do nowadays…

"_It figures really," _thought Shahra bitterly as she tied her hair back, swearing to wash it and the rest of her body at the earliest opportunity. _"Not satisfied with perverting our culture, they even dictate what we can and can't wear." _Sighing, she shook her head in frustration. Dictating attire or fashion preferences wasn't exactly the greatest crime in the world, but even so, it angered her, more due to…well, vanity, in a sense.

But even so…

Shahra shook her head again, though this time in resolve. She had more important things to worry about than fashion. Finding out where Leo was and what had happened to her were among them. She decided to deal with the former first…easier to deal with. She quickly found it too, a small note left on perhaps the widest desk she'd ever seen. An ink pot and quill were nearby, but not of any bird feather that Shahra recognised.

"_If that's the size of the desk, wonder what size the chair would be?_" the elf mused, trying to conjure an image of an orc sitting at a desk and failing miserably. Regardless, she picked up the note and began to read.

_Dear-…_

The rest of the line cut off there. Shahra smirked as she viewed the various terms that Leo had crossed out, including "donkey ears", "Blondie" and "paleskin". Too much of a good thing was sometimes bad for you and Leo's list of insults fit the definition perfectly. With each insult having been crossed out and indeed, the line as a whole, Shahra continued to read.

_Miss Dreamsinger,_

_If you're reading this letter, I can only assume that you've either regained consciousness or something freaky has occurred that has separated your mind from your body. Regardless, I hope you're alright. I don't know what happened exactly, but suffice to say, I think you went through a physical form of hell. Take things easy Shahra. I don't want any more problems for either of us. Still, if you feel the need to cough up any more blood, please do so outside. I had a hell of a time cleaning up the first volley._

"I coughed up blood?" Shahra asked herself. She continued reading.

_At this point in time, I'm currently out in the Netherstorm, taking a look around. No, it's not to collect firewood and no, it's not to clear my head. Just understand that sitting in a hut all day is boring and, given the smell, not entirely __pleasant. In case you're wondering, yes, you smell like a troll. If it's any consolation though, I'm probably no better. Of course, we have to take our relative exertion into account, but that's another matter entirely._

_Best regards,_

_Leo._

_PS: Lose some weight. Lifting you into the bed was harder than I expected._

Shahra was vaguely aware that she was fully smiling by the time that she put the note down. It was funny really, how Leo somehow managed to compliment and insult her in the same sentence. The only way fault that she could find was that the human had failed to tell her exactly what had happened. Coughing up blood was apparently part of it, but not the full story…

Putting down the note, the elf slowly closed her eyes, once again casting her mind back to her memories of when things had gone pear shaped…

_Blood…_

_Darkness…_

_Pain…_

The high elf grimaced as she opened her eyes. Something had happened all right. Something that had resulted in her losing consciousness and…other things. She turned to the window, looking out across the Netherstorm. Judging by the paltry amount of sunlight and its angle, it was seemingly twilight, meaning that she'd been unconscious for at least a day.

"_And it's to be expected too," _Shahra thought, knowing what had caused it. Indeed, she had even anticipated it. Two weeks of abstinence. One week of remaining in a magic saturated cell, another trekking across a magic saturated land…all the while doing nothing to deal with it. Magic coursed through her veins, and she'd done absolutely _nothing _to prevent the entry of more.

Not to mention that it was demonic magic…

"_Well that changes now," _Shahra thought to herself, sitting down on the floor and beginning a ritual that she'd performed daily for the past five years. She knew that she generally felt normal over the last two weeks, the need to meditate having seemingly dissipated, but that didn't mean the need had been removed altogether.

"_No more procrastination. No more denial. Magic courses through my veins and I, Sun willing, shall deal with it. The curse of my birthright will _not_become manifest! I-…"_

Shahra was almost grateful when she heard the door open. She was getting a bit carried away and she knew it. The main reason however, was who had opened the door. She scrambled to her feet and ran across the room to the alcove where the hut's entrance was.

"Leo, I…"

Shahra trailed off, her excitement giving way to at first surprise and then, fear. Involuntarily, she began backing away, her pulse racing.

After all, it wasn't Leo who opened the door.

It wasn't even _human_…

* * *

The Netherstorm was so…boring. 

It was a conclusion that Leonard Ragoa had reached quite awhile ago, yet was still dwelling over it. It was a strange experience really. It was said that you never appreciated the beauty of things until you truly looked at them. Hiking for a week across a wasteland had prevented Leo from doing that but now, relatively free of constraints, he was free to marvel at the beauty of the Netherstorm. Or rather, the lack of it.

"_What the hell am I thinking about?" _Leo mused, making his way back to the orc hut. _"I'm in the most inhospitable region of Outland, low on food and water, stuck with an elf that'll probably get us both killed, and I'm thinking about how _boring _this place is?"_ He shook his head. Outland was a realm that defied conventionality in the physical sense (how did a slab of rock maintain its position in space anyway?) That it defied conventionality in the mental sense was hardly surprising.

One day had passed since the fight with the dragon turtle…a day that would have had to have been the longest, most excruciating in Leo's life. Even his captivity in Tempest Keep was more bearable in that he knew what was what; the blood elves were his enemies, he was a prisoner of war for all intents and purposes and his cellmate aptly fit the definition of "whiney bitch."

But now…

Leo found he couldn't stay in the hut, not just for the reason that the place stank. His knowledge of biology wasn't that extensive, but it was clear that Shahra's state of health had gone up the creek without a paddle. Coughing up blood and losing consciousness, followed by shallow breathing tended to convey that impression. He'd seen similar scenes before, but the fact remained that watching the elf featured a combination of concern and distrust. It was moral obligation that made him at least get her comfortable, but there was the ever present possibility that he was aiding someone whose interests did not lie with his own. On one hand, he owed Shahra for helping him in the fight against the dragon turtle. On the other, she owed him just as much, if not more so, not to mention presenting the risk of betrayal…

Leo didn't want a repeat of last time…

The human had therefore left. The Netherstorm was bland, but it at least allowed him to collect his thoughts and reflect just how crappy his situation was. Low on food, low on water and stuck in nowhere's proverbial middle. Woot.

"_Ardelan's coming though," _Leo reminded himself. _"Well, supposedly at least…"_

The optimism quickly faded. Even if Ardelan did show up, what then? He wouldn't have planned on including transport for three and besides, he probably wouldn't take kindly to having an elf nearby. Leo groaned, tugging the beard that he intended to shave as soon as an opportunity presented itself. He hated playing diplomat, but Ardelan's presence in light of Shahra's demanded it.

And what of the elf herself? What if she remained in her condition? Leo knew that more was at stake here than a single elf that he'd been stuck with, but even so…Leo sighed. Morality was overrated.

"_And so is the concept of home," _Leo thought bitterly, coming within fifty feet of the hut. Home may have been where the heart was, but considering that his current 'home' was a decaying piece of wood with…a large sack and warhammer by the door…

Leo could tell by the size of the sack and warhammer, not to mention its golden embroidery and purple stone hammerhead, that the items belonged to Ardelan. He had come, as expected. He had come to transport him to…

"_Wait a minute…" _thought the human. _"If Ardelan's stuff is outside, then where's Ardelan himself?"_

There was only one answer. Inside the hut. Inside the hut, alone, with a high elf…

Letting out a curse, Leo started running.

* * *

The quel'dorei considered themselves a passive people, a trait which manifested itself in various ways. On one hand, the detachment from emotion could lead to arrogance, a belief that they were of a higher order than "lesser races"-paltry beings that would often fall victim to their emotions. On the other, the channelling of their emotions would lead to works of art and literature, the quality of which was of the highest order. Although far from an emotionless race, the quel'dorei could generally channel them with greater control than other races. 

Not that they were completely above simple emotions however, hatred being among them…

For the high elves, three races would always be a source of enmity. Most recent to the triangle of hate (or "axis of evil" as some called it) were the "children of blood"; corrupters of high elven culture and values. Far more ancient were the Amani trolls; murderers of their people and savages who marred the purity of Quel'Thalas. Yet even more ancient, and perhaps the darkest of all, were demons.

Demons…those of the Twisting Nether, anathema to life. Demons were the bane of existence, yet for the quel'dorei, it was far more complex. The Highborne had consorted with demons ten thousand years ago, an alliance driven by arrogance, the thirst for power and a lust for knowledge. To a high elf, a demon was more than a simple monster. A demon was the darker side of the elven psyche made manifest. To look at a demon was to look at the darker side of your nature, to look at what you may become.

Even the sin'dorei did not present such a distorted image of the elven spirit. In a true quel'dorei's eyes, a blood elf simply represented a perversion of their culture. A demon however, was a mirror image…a physical reminder of what they could become…of what they had almost become…

Shahra knew this…had known this as soon as she was old enough to learn the history of her people. She therefore knew that she was looking at an eredar as soon as she saw it. Admittedly, it didn't look exactly as she expected; blue skin, blue eyes, sleek black hair. Yet there were definite physical attributes that matched an eredar's description; hooves, a tail, four tendrils extending from the creature's chin…

A demon through and through. One which Shahra gazed at with a combination of fear, awe and loathing. A look which the demon mirrored, at least in the loathing part.

"Where is my friend?" it growled, looking down at the elf below him. Standing one and a half feet taller than the elf, he didn't even have to try to intimidate her. Its voice also provided such intimidation. It was thick and heavy…not the unearthly sound that Shahra had expected, but still not natural.

"Wh…what?" Shahra asked.

The eredar sighed. "Don't waste my time wrench. I know that you're travelling with a male human named Leonard Ragoa. Either you tell me where he is, or I…well, use your imagination if you possess such a thing."

Shahra was confused. She was face to face with an eredar, a species of demon renowned for tactical prowess, arrogance and, like virtually all demons, sadism. Since when did an eredar address a mortal so passively?

"Well?" the eredar asked.

"I…I don't know," Shahra stammered. A half truth as it was, one which the demon quickly picked up on.

"Let me make myself clear," the eredar said, taking a step forward. "I've travelled across the Netherstorm for a week. I'm tired, frustrated and out of patience. I know that you've been travelling with a human this past week, one which, Light knows why, has seemingly helped you."

"And if he has?" Shahra asked, wondering why a demon would make a reference to the Holy Light.

The demon made a lemon sucking grimace. "If he has, it means that there is something about you that prevents me from dispatching justice."

"Go ahead and dispatch it then," Shahra retorted, hoping that she sounded braver than she felt.

The eredar tilted its head, as if studying her. Kind of like a cat curiously studying a mouse who said "don't eat me." The problem with the analogy, was that curiosity wasn't going to get this cat killed. Rather, given how the demon's hand shot forward and grabbed her by the neck, lifting her above the ground, it was going to get its prey killed.

Shahra was instantly taken back to Tartarus, the incident outside Tempest Keep where he could have snapped her neck like a twig yet chose not to. The lack of air, the blind panic, the feelings of helplessness…she waited for these to come.

They never did.

Shahra gazed down at the eredar, trying to gauge its motives. This was different from being strangled by a fel orc. He looked at her not with hatred, but simply with dislike. It was well within its power to do what Tartarus chose not to, yet it was making the same decision as the fel orc. Something was holding it back, something which caused him to hold her without causing any pain. Something that went deeper than utilitarian purposes…

Shahra studied the eredar closely, taking note of how…different, it seemed from what she'd expected. Its body was clad in silver armour with gold trim, purple gems inserted in key areas. Its eyes also caught her own…glowing blue, like her own. There were differences in them, namely that they were of a darker shade and were far less radiant, seemingly a natural feature rather than a manifestation of magical addiction, but even so…

"In case you're wondering, yes, I could easily snap your neck like a twig," said the eredar, his voice coming out like a bored drawl.

"Then why don't you?" Shahra sneered.

"Because unlike your kind, I have a sense of right and wrong," the eredar snarled, its eyes narrowing. "You're an unarmed individual who has made no attempt to cause me harm. Added to that, you've been travelling with Leonard Ragoa and are therefore worthy of life in his eyes."

Shahra remained silent. This eredar seemed to be after Leo for some reason. A reason that she didn't want to even think about…

"Death is not something that must ever be dealt lightly," the eredar continued. "I have dealt death to your kind before, but only on the battlefield. Chaotic circumstances, morality cast aside, the power of life and death at our command…" The eredar trailed off, as if remembering something that caused him…what? Regret? Pain? Shahra didn't know and, given how it suddenly refocussed on her, decided not to ask.

"Still, I think it's safe to assume that it's unpleasant being held up in the air," the eredar drawled. "There's an easy way to alleviate your situation however, and that's by answering my question."

"Which is…?" Shahra asked slowly.

"My question," snarled the eredar, "is where is the male human you've been travelling with."

"I…don't know," Shahra whispered.

"Don't lie to me!" the eredar roared, tightening his grip slightly. "You've been travelling with him for the past week! Either you tell me where he is, or I assume that you've caused my friend to come to harm and thus avenge him."

"I thought you said that you weren't intent on dealing death."

The eredar chuckled. "You'll be surprised what you can live through."

"I bet."

The eredar went to say something, but seemingly thought better of it. Shahra was slightly disappointed. Her best bet was to keep the creature talking until Leo returned and then…well, they'd taken out the dragon turtle together, so maybe they could do the same here…

Or not.

"Just answer my question," the eredar snarled, bringing its face close to the elf in its grasp. "WHERE IS LEONARD RAGOA!?"

"Right behind you Ardelan," came a voice.

Two pairs of blue eyes turned to the alcove, one set out of hope and relief, the other out of curiosity. Leo was standing there, his right hand by the elf blade sheathed in his belt, the other stretched out as if to calm down a rabid animal.

"Leo!" Shahra and the one apparently named Ardelan exclaimed. The eredar quickly dropped Shahra, the elf landing with a heavy thud. She looked up in bewilderment as she saw the demon and human greeting each other as if they were old friends.

"You're alive I see," Ardelan smiled, the grin genuine.

"And you too, I see," Leo replied. "Had a good trip?"

"In a word, no," the eredar replied. "Tracking you across the Netherstorm was hardly pleasant."

"Across the Netherstorm? Didn't you land here?"

"No," Ardelan said slowly, looking slightly embarrassed. "I was actually sent to Tempest Keep first but…well, let's just say I had bad timing."

"_Would someone _please _tell me what's going on here?" _Shahra asked herself, looking at the two with scrutiny. Since when was Leo associated with demons? Since when were demons capable of faking companionship with such sophistication. Since when-…

"Anyway, you're safe, and that's what matters," the eredar said, patting the human on the shoulder like a parent would to a child (given the height difference, it certainly looked the part). The eredar turned back to face Shahra.

"What about her though?" Ardelan asked. "Since when did you start associating with blood elves?"

"High elf," answered Shahra and Leo simultaneously. Ardelan only heard the human though, as if the elf didn't exist…a dream, as it was. Unfortunately, the blood elves were a people that did indeed exist.

"High elf?" asked the eredar. "One of those self-deluded fools who think they're different from their kindred?"

"I beg your pardon!?" Shahra exclaimed indifferently. This was like her time with Leo in Tempest Keep all over. Only difference was, Ardelan wasn't pausing any attention to her.

"In a word, yes," Leo answered. "And while I understand your misgivings, I can assure you that she has earnt my trust."

Ardelan snorted. "You think that…thing is capable of understand the concept Leonard?" He turned back and glared at the quel'dorei, his tail moving up and down. "Have you forgotten what happened to you the last time you-…"

"No," answered the human quickly, the eredar seemingly approaching a subject he didn't want to dwell on. "I haven't forgotten and I never will. However, the past doesn't dictate my actions wholly."

Ardelan raised an eyebrow, giving Leo the same quizzical look he'd given Shahra. He turned back to face the elf, glared for a few seconds, then turned back to the human.

"I will respect your…decision," Ardelan growled, clearly not agreeing with it. "However, if you wake up with a knife in your back, don't come whining to me." Glaring at Shahra one last time, he stormed out, slamming the door.

Silence fell upon the room, Leo looking at Shahra with guilt, the elf looking at Leo with confusion. There were some things in life that universally made people uneasy and what had just transpired was one of them.

"So…" said Leo slowly. "Are you alright?"

"_Alright_?" asked Shahra indignantly, getting to her feet. "I've just been strangled by an eredar who-…"

"Draenei, Shahra. Ardelan's a draenei."

The high elf raised an eyebrow. "Leo, what the hell are you on about? There was an eredar in this room who-…"

"Damit Shahra, would you just listen!?" Leo exclaimed. "Ardelan's a draenei, _not _an eredar. I don't know the full history, but he's basically everything an eredar isn't. Not to mention that he's a friend of mine-…"

"Friend!?" Shahra exclaimed. "That thing is your friend!?"

"I-…"

"When were you going to tell me this!?" Shahra exclaimed. "When did you intend on informing me that you had a psychopath trailing us? When-…" She trailed off.

"Yes?" asked Leo, looking at her quizzically.

Shahra remained silent. Memories of Tempest Keep were starting to come back to her. Leo hadn't left her in the dark completely…

* * *

**Tempest Keep**

"_It's as I thought…" Leo mused softly to himself._

"_Pardon?" asked Shahra, her sharp hearing picking up his words._

"_The Sunstrider prince has added a level of dungeons to the lower levels of the keep," said Leo, turning to meet Shahra's gaze. "No doubt for any excess prisoners his forces capture. Can't say the naaru are going to very happy."_

"_The what?" Shahra asked, having never heard of a 'nah-roo' before._

"_Or the draenei for that matter," Leo continued, ignoring the elf's query._

"_What the hell is a-…"_

"_Ardelan's going to be-…"_

"_Alright, slow down!" yelled Shahra. She knew that shouting could incur the human's beratement, but she felt that she was making progress in acquiring his trust, something that rarely worked amongst others of his kind. It seemed safe to pursue truth; "you're not making sense."_

"_I'm not?" asked Leo, clearly surprised. Either the traitor had suddenly become a good liar or she was woefully ignorant of her lord's manners._

"_For starters, you said that Kael created a section of dungeons on the lower levels of this keep. Yet if that's the case, why keep you in a separate cell? How'd you come to receive special treatment?"_

_Leo shrugged; "Hell if I know. Still, it's not that surprising really, that the prince would throw a traitor to both his kind and the Alliance into darker…" He trailed off, seeing that the elf was seemingly on the verge of tears. "Something wrong?" he asked._

* * *

Shahra returned to the present. Something _had _been wrong back then. Something that had led to her crying like a small child. Caught up in her emotion, the high elf had never thought to ask Leo about a 'nah-roo', 'dra-nye' or Ardelan, as to whom or what they were. Only a week later had the questions been answered, although not in the way she expected. Of course, there was one question left. If that was _who _Ardelan was, and he was an example of _what_ a draenei was, then who and/or what was a 'nah-roo?' 

Despite the virtue of knowledge, Shahra decided that she didn't want to know.

"Shahra?" asked Leo, noticing her silence. "Are you alright?"

The quel'dorei remained silent for awhile. There was something about Ardelan's interaction with Leo, something that…oh surely not…

"He's one of the two, isn't he?" Shahra asked softly.

Leo raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Shahra once again fell silent, remembering Leo's words on the morning after their first night in the Netherstorm…

* * *

**Netherstorm**

"_Anyway, we best be off," said Leo. "The journey south will hardly be easy, even without the blood elves on our arses." He began walking off; "Come along donkey ears."_

"_Sure thing _Leonard_," Shahra responded sarcastically. She immediately wondered as to whether it was a suitable response however, given how Leo suddenly spun around, a vein throbbing in his temple._

"_Don't call me that," he snarled. "Ever."_

_Shahra was caught off guard. "Sorry, I-…"_

"_I can't stand the name Leonard," the human continued. "Only close friends are allowed to call me that, only two of them not being human._

* * *

"Ardelan was calling you Leonard and you weren't even flinching," said Shahra, her blue eyes boring into Leo's grey ones. "He's one of your close friends, isn't he? One of the two non-humans who can call you Leonard." Leo flinched as she called him by his full name, as if to emphasize her point…that someone like Ardelan could get into his inner circle, yet someone like Shahra couldn't. 

Like the 'nah-roo', the quel'dorei decided that she didn't want to know who the other friend was.

"Look, I'm sorry," said the human, walking up to the high elf and placing his hands on her shoulders. "I should have told you about Ardelan. Trekking through the Netherstorm kinda distorted my 'to do' list."

Shahra smiled despite herself. "_That's _your excuse?"

Leo returned it. "Hey, I've gotta have _some_ excuse, don't I?" His features softened. "How are you feeling?" he asked, referring to what had landed her in the bed…whatever the cause was…

Shahra shrugged. "Hard to say. I feel fine but…well, that was how I felt before…"

She trailed off, a trail that Leo didn't seek to steer her from. Technically, that wasn't entirely true, the elf having been off color for the better part of a week. Even so, that didn't explain suddenly coughing up coagulated blood and losing consciousness…

"Anyway, it doesn't matter," said Shahra hastily, not wanting to dwell on the subject.

"Shahra, you don't need to lie to yourself," said Leo. "Suddenly coughing up-…"

"The elf is correct, it doesn't matter," came a voice, the human and high elf turning to Ardelan, who'd silently entered. The draenei tossed a large sack onto the bed. "Suit yourself up Leonard. We have more important things to deal with." Glaring at Shahra, he turned tail and walked out swiftly, slamming the door behind him. A loud, angsty case of déjà vu as the case was.

"What the hell is his problem!?" Shahra exclaimed, turning to face Leo. "In fact, what the hell _is_ he!?"

Leo, currently undoing the sack, glanced at his companion. "Ardelan's a draenei, donkey ears. Weren't you listening?"

"Yes but…well, what's a draenei?" Shahra asked, sounding and feeling uncomfortable. Judging by the tone of the human's voice, not knowing what a draenei was was a display of ignorance. The high elf liked to consider herself knowledgeable, but even so…

The human sighed. "Do you know what an eredar is?"

"Yes…" said Shahra slowly, the elf's earlier memories of eredar coming back to her. "Why?"

"Because apart from physical appearance, draenei are everything that the eredar are not," Leo grunted, having finished opening the sack and pouring its contents onto the bed. "That's the best answer I can give you."

Somehow Shahra doubted that. Humans weren't nearly as knowledgeable concerning demons as the quel'dorei, but they were far from ignorant either. The draenei, assuming that they _were _called draenei and not eredar, must have provided a more satisfactory explanation as to their nature so they weren't exorcized on sight. Maybe this was what Leo meant when he said that prejudice could have turned into a liability. Then again, the explanation was hardly satisfactory.

Still, Leo's unwillingness to talk was understandable in a sense, given that he was looking at the contacts of the sack akin to a child looking at his or her presents on Winter's Veil. "The guys have been good to me," Leo murmured, breaking into a goofy smile. Shahra had to agree…if being "good" translated as "appealing to Rambo tendencies."

Of the array of items, the first thing that caught the high elf's eye (partly because Leo was staring at it with awe) was a giant sheathed battlesword. It was presumably Leo's considering that he instantly unsheathed it and grasped it with a swordsman's grip. Casting the elven blade that had hung from his belt the last week, he began executing a series of thrusts and parries.

Shahra was taken back to the morning after their first night in the Netherstorm, how Leo had executed a few swings with the blade he'd stolen from the blood elf guard and gone on a tangent on how superior battleswords were to smaller blades. Looking at him practicing, Shahra was inclined to agree, or at least as far as his own fighting style was concerned. His footwork was lacking in complexity, but the nature of his swings indicated that his prowess could compensate for it. He wasn't the type of person to rely on agility, instead relying wholly on the blade's power and length to keep his opponent at bay. Pretty much the opposite to an elf's fighting style but, Shahra had to admit, just as effective.

"Now _this_," the human said, clasping the sword with two hands and turning towards Shahra, "is a weapon."

"No doubt," the quel'dorei murmured, deciding not to disagree for a variety of reasons. She gingerly picked up the elf blade that Leo had discarded. "What about this?"

"What, that pisswater thing?" the human asked, slinging the sheathed sword across his back and turning back to the sack's contents. "You can have it if you want."

Shahra studied the blade, wondering if she could stomach it. Structurally, the shortsword was completely sound, fitting her grasp perfectly. After all, it had been made by a fellow member of her species. However, that was where the comfortable aspects ended. The hilt was a dyed red leather, the crossguard a pure gold. Along the blade, small black runes had been inscribed…runes that bore great resemblance to those of dark creatures, yet were of elvish origin…

This was a weapon of the sin'dorei and Shahra knew it. Just looking at it made her feel sick. Structurally it was sound, but aesthetically, it was a perversion of high elven styles. Hell, if not for the clear elven design, one could have easily assumed that it had been made by demons.

"_Can I use this?" _Shahra wondered, giving the sword a few swings and finding, much to her discomfort, that it was perfectly suited to her physique. _"Does the end justify the means?"_

She put the sword down. It was a decision that she'd have to make later. To take her mind off her dilemma, she returned to looking at Leo's treasure trove, the human currently trying on a suit of full plate amour.

"So…" the man said, turning to face the elf. "What do you think?"

Shahra raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to be a judge?"

Leo shrugged. "I'm simply open to opinions."

The elf grinned. "You flatter me."

Shahra knew very little about the specifics of amour. She'd never worn anything sturdier than leather armor, and even that was uncomfortable at times. Metal was a complete anathema to her. Still, looking at Leo's attire and remembering his swings with the sword, she supposed it suited him. Metal shin guards and kneepads on the lower body, a suit of plate armor on the upper half with chainmail below it. Black fingerless gloves were also being worn.

"It looks…good," the elf said, thinking that "standard" may have been a more appropriate, if less useful adjective. In short, Leo was equipped exactly like one of the soldiers that she was used to in Stormwind, the only notable absences being a shield and helmet. Still, that was to be expected. His pet battlesword was meant to be wielded double-handed and with a lack of fancy footwork, he'd probably rely extensively on hand-eye coordination, a helmet hindering that.

Leo raised an eyebrow. "Good? That's all you have?"

The elf shrugged. "Told you I'm no expert."

Shahra knew that she could have probably been more descriptive. However, something had caught her eye, something that made the armor slightly non-standard. It was nothing major and could have easily passed unnoticed, but even so, there was no mistaking the coat of arms on the upper right. A shield with a golden **L**, two swords running under the shield diagonally, a lion-headed hammer running under vertically.

The coat of arms of Lordaeron…

Lordaeron...a kingdom laid to waste like Quel'Thalas and in much the same fashion, albeit with the Burning Legion finishing the job.

"_Interesting,"_ the high elf mused. _"The armor itself is pristine and so is the sword. Yet why have a coat of arms for a kingdom destroyed half a decade ago?"_

Was Leo from Lordaeron perhaps? It was possible, but from experience, Shahra knew that some things didn't add up. Lordaeron had been the most pious of the human kingdoms and those who had fled south during and after the Third War reflected it, vocally supporting fanatical movements such as the Scarlet Crusade. Yet Leo hadn't even made mention of the Scourge…

Shahra shrugged. It was probably nothing worth dwelling on.

The rest of the items were smaller and less significant, but still brought pleasure to the human, much to the high elf's amusement. A flask of what she suspected was rum, a deck of playing cards, some gnomish gadget that, judging by Leo's exclamation, was a mechanical shaver. After a series of exclamations of joy, the human eventually turned back to her.

"Anyway, enough about me," said Leo. "What about you?"

"Pardon?" Shahra asked, the question having caught her off guard.

"I asked what about you?" Leo repeated. "What I intended to point out before Ardelan barged in is that coughing up blood, losing cohesion and collapsing on the floor is hardly a good sign as to your state of health."

Shahra faced the floor, as if expecting to see herself and/or blood there. "So that's what happened…" she whispered.

Leo went to say something but Shahra interrupted. "Don't worry Leo. I think we both know what caused it."

The human faced the ground. "I'm sorry Shahra. I-…"

"Don't be," said the high elf, taking his hand. "If I'd stopped for meditation each morning, we'd probably still be in nowhere's proverbial middle."

Leo raised his gaze and smiled faintly, a gesture which was returned. Neither was truly aware of how long they stood there…partly because neither humans nor high elves were inclined to measure time seriously when it lasted in periods of a few seconds.

"Leo, are you done yet!?" thundered Ardelan's voice.

Leo sighed. "Coming." He went to go out, stopped, then turned back to the elf. "Business to attend to."

Shahra shrugged. "I know the feeling. I've got stuff to catch up on too." Appreciating the gesture, the human went to walk out.

"Oh, by the way…" Shahra called out. Leo stopped and turned. Again. Shahra smiled back.

"Thank you."

* * *

Meditation wasn't working. 

Admittedly, that wasn't entirely true and a certain high elf knew it. The notion that something was not working implied that the thing was either not doing its job properly or simply not doing at all. In a sense, her attempts to keep her arcane addiction in check could meet this definition. However, that did not convey the full story…

Rather, it was a case of her not feeling the _need_ to…

Opening her eyes, Shahra stood and flexed herself, glancing out one of the windows. Judging from the absence of natural light, the only illumination being provided by the glow of the Netherstorm's tortured sky, she guessed that it must have been late at night. The elf instinctively shivered. Nights in the Netherstorm were basically the frosty version of hell. Despite the hut's smell, she was glad for it.

"_But that doesn't alter the facts, does it?" _Shahra mused. _"It doesn't change anything…"_

The feeling was not entirely new. Shahra's lack of progress stemmed from the same feeling that she'd experienced on the morning after her first night in the Netherstorm, leading to her decision to postpone meditation in favor of faster travel. The need to meditate simply wasn't _there_…

Two weeks of negligence would be how some of the high elf's kin may have seen it, denying the actions necessary to ensure that one did not succumb to the curse of their birthright. Under normal circumstances, Shahra would have been inclined to agree with them. She was willing to get up each morning and meditate in the sun's rays, finding the experience fulfilling. However, how could the term "neglect" be applied if there was nothing to keep at bay? Meditation could cleanse the mind and spirit, but even so, there was little point employing at it if there was nothing to cleanse the spirit's purity…

Part of the quel'dorei's mind hoped for the impossible, or _improbable _as the case had become. She'd never heard of a high elf overcoming his or her addiction entirely, the only alternative to satiation being reliance on external magic sources and saw no reason that she should be any different. On the other hand, there was no denying how…_normal _she felt. Exactly like it had been before the destruction of the Sunwell…

"_But that doesn't explain coughing up coagulated blood and falling unconscious, does it?" _Shahra thought, her scant memory of the incident hardly being pleasant. Admittedly, there could be other explanations, namely the trek across the Netherstorm. It had been physically, mentally and spirituality taxing, with little substance to subsist upon. Obviously the high elf's one year stay in Stormwind hadn't done her state of fitness any good, but even so…There had to be to it that that. Outland ate away at every aspect of your being. Maybe what had happened was due to Outland itself…

"_But what about the magic then?" _Shahra wondered. _"Physical hardship could explain the physical side-effects, but what about the spiritual ones?"_

The high elf had no answer. Well, she did, but one that she did not want to consider. However, there was no denying the fact that Outland and Tempest Keep were saturated in energies which harkened from the Twisting Nether. What if…what if such energies had fed her passively? What if she'd been soaking up demonic magic for the past two weeks without even knowing it?

Shahra found it unlikely. She knew little about the sin'dorei's methods of feeding rather than resisting their addiction and had no interest in learning about such distasteful methods. Of what she did know however, was that it required active use and channeling of magic, consciously taking in the essence of demons and other similar sources. Shahra had never been near a demon in her life (well, maybe Ardelan, she was still in the dark about what distinguished draenei from eredar) and had no intent of changing that record. Channeling their essence was completely out of the question.

"_But not for the sin'dorei_…" the high elf mused, casting back her mind to Tempest Keep. She'd been there for a week, its culmination before meeting Leo being beaten to an inch of her life and being healed immediately afterwards of her bruises and even the wound to her leg she'd received at Nethergarde. What if…what if the blood elves applied 'healing' in a different sense of the word…After all, there had been a bitter taste in her mouth when she woke up. A taste which only abated the next morning…

Once again, Shahra found it unlikely, or at least forced herself to believe that was the case. If Kael'thas and/or one of his cronies had given her a sample of what they relied on to slake their addiction, shouldn't she be looking like a blood elf by now? Green eyes, slightly less pale complexion, Light knew what else… Besides, Leo and Ardelan had made no comment on a changed appearance. After all-…

"Damit Ardelan, what the hell is so difficult about playing Go-fish!?"

Speaking of which…

Wanting a break from meditation, and reassuring herself that she wasn't afraid of confronting the truth, Shahra made her way to the window situated in the alcove. Ardelan and Leo were sitting there, somehow having got a fire started. Oddly enough though, there was no wood…

"Leonard, you're not making yourself clear," said the eredar (or draenei apparently), shuffling his playing cards.

The human sighed. "Ardelan, for the last time, you can only ask if I have a card if you possess it yourself." Leo gazed down at their card piles, both of which were miniscule. "I was hoping to have moved onto Blackjack or Poker by now."

Ardelan shrugged. "My apologies. My people never relied on cards for games."

Leo went to ask something, seemingly what kind of games draenei played, but stopped short. Gazing out the window, Shahra decided that she couldn't blame him. If a…alright, _draenei_ couldn't understand Go-fish, they must possess some pretty weird games of their own that no being of Azeroth could possibly understand.

The high elf didn't see much promise in the pair's conversation going anywhere particularly interesting, but still remained in place, gazing out like a curious child ("not that curiosity was necessarily a bad thing," she reminded herself). She couldn't shake just how strange it looked to see a human sitting adjacent to a creature that looked, and as far as she was concerned, acted like a demon. She trusted Leo's judgment and admittedly, Ardelan begat a certain nobility, if only for his intrinsically crafted armor and war hammer, both of which were reminiscent of equipment being used by the Knights of the Silver Hand, or paladins as they were more commonly known. Still, demons were known for their powers of deception, and the eredar were no exception…

"_But not you Leo," _thought Shahra, her persona becoming akin to a dreamy schoolgirl, looking at the silent human rather than the equally silent draenei. _"You're an honest type, aren't you?"_

"Alright Leonard, it's time to be honest with me," said Ardelan suddenly.

Leo raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"Don't stall Leonard," the draenei growled. "I didn't trek across the Netherstorm after you to only receive silence." Leo didn't respond, allowing Ardelan to continue.

"Well Ragoa?" he whispered. "Were you able to-…"

"Yes," said Leo suddenly. "Let's leave it at that."

Shahra raised an eyebrow. _"He was meant to something? But for who? Himself? Ardelan?" _She remembered how neither she nor Leo had commented on their reasons for being in Outland, an unspoken rule having been established in Tempest Keep. It had seemed appropriate at the time. Now though…

The draenei chuckled. "Of course. The walls have ears, as you'd say."

"What?" asked Leo, his tone indicating that the conversation was headed in a direction that he didn't approve of.

Ardelan leant forward, all traces of humor gone. "Leonard, you have some explaining to do. And I want to hear your explanation _now._"

"Ardelan, I-…"

"The way I see it, you are either forgetful, insensitive, stupid, infatuated, or Light forbid, all of them," Ardelan continued. "Before you ask, yes, I can transport all three of us across to Hellfire Peninsula. However, while you may see differently, I have little inclination to provide such transport for the elf."

"This is-…"

"Damit Leonard, have you forgotten what happened two weeks ago!?" Ardelan exclaimed. "You're acting as if the elf presents no danger whatsoever! I will never forget the events on Bloodmyst Isle any more than you will forget what happened in Terokar Forest! It's as if you consider the elf a-…"

"Shahra _is _a friend," Leo snarled, rising to his feet. "And I ask that you respect that."

Said friend's persona had changed slightly, in that the quel'dorei was blushing like…well, something that blushed a lot. Engrossed in the scene between human and draenei, similes were the last thing on Shahra's mind. In truth, she was fully comprehending Leo's admission, and what it meant for her. She remembered the system that he'd mentioned after their first night in the Netherstorm, how she'd started off as an "ally." Now however, she was at the top of the hierarchy…

It was rather…fulfilling.

Unlike Shahra however, Ardelan didn't seem fazed. "Fair enough, Leonard. But what about the other aspects?" His eyes narrowed. "Can you trust her?"

Leo snorted. "Course not."

"What?" Shahra whispered. She looked on as Leo continued to talk.

"Come on Ardelan, what do you take me for?" the human asked. "Course I don't trust her. She claims to be a high elf but hasn't done anything to prove it. And before you ask, no, she isn't of that much use. She helped me fight against the dragon turtle, but I'm pulling her arse out of the fire most of the time." He smiled at the draenei. "Trust me Ardelan, I know what I'm doing. Shahra's a friend, but not one that is inexpendable. If the situation calls for it we can easily apply a two is company, three's a crowd philosophy into action. After all, I…" He trailed off, slowly turning towards the hut. The window, to be specific…

Shahra barely noticed Leo move from the fire, any more than she heard the door open. It was only after Leo murmured something to her that the high elf turned to face him, tears coming down. Angsty déjà vu all over again. Somehow, Shahra couldn't have cared less.

"You heard," said Leo. It was a statement rather than a question.

Shahra nodded, conveying the most insincere smile that she could muster. "I suppose that this is where you tell me that you didn't mean it?"

"Course not."

The smile faded, replaced by a look of shock and stepping back slowly, as if in fear, but rather due to the first emotion. Shahra had expected Leo to affirm, even if she knew it was a lie. She'd never expected honesty to be so…brutal.

"Come on Shahra, you must have known this," Leo exclaimed. "You've never proved that you're not a blood elf, you've never explained why you're in Outland, a dragon turtle just _happened _to be at the rendezvous point…"

"Leo, shut up!" the elf shouted. "You're despicable."

The human raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Shahra glared at him, sky blue light blazing from her eyes. "What kind of person are you!? How can you possibly boil down emotion to an exact science!?"

"That's what psychologists are for!" Leo shouted, advancing on her. Shahra stood her ground.

"Shahra, friendship is simply one form of relationship among many," said Leo, his tone softer, almost regretful. "You can like someone but not trust them. You can love someone instinctively yet also despise them. You can aid someone, yet only for your own purposes. It's in our nature Shahra, its' what comes with sentience. Friendship is simply one aspect of relations among many."

"I don't believe that," said Shahra. "If you consider someone a friend, if you _love _them, that's all that matters. You trust them, you look out for them. The concept of expendability doesn't even enter your mind."

Leo snorted at this. "So for you, it's all or nothing then?"

Shahra tossed her hair back defiantly. "Yes. All or nothing."

Silence once again descended upon the human and high elf. This was wrong, and they both knew it. Both knew that Shahra was slipping out of Leo's hierarchy. Both knew that Shahra didn't care. Both knew that Leo could feel an ingrained _wrongness _about the situation, yet did not feel inclined to correct it. It was only when Leo shrugged, turned and exited from the hut that he uttered his final words to Shahra before she slipped out of his companionship…

"You're welcome to it."

* * *

**_A/N_**

_Well, after more than a month between updates, chapter 11 is here and, despite my efforts to scale it down, over 11,000 words. Don't know about the rest of you, but I don't really consider such excessive length a good thing. Unlike the second half of chapter 9 (which became chapter 10) however, I couldn't find a good place to sub-divide._

_Anyway, there isn't that much to yak on about I guess. Yes, the traveller is finally revealed. As an arrogant ass, I'm kinda satisfied. As far as fanon and canon are concerned, the draenei haven't really had much attention; few fanfics feature them (at least in comparison to blood elves) and they're definitively not appearing in the WOW comic. It's a shame IMO. Despite the controversy, I actually like them as a race. Meh. _

_And in case I somehow managed to convey this impression, no, I don't know jack about sword techniques. Still, not being familiar with WOW mechanics, I can't really say that Leo has Tier 4 armor with a sword that does X damage with Y cooldown. Besides, it would hardly be realistic to use these terms. _

**_Issue Responses_**

_-Note: I'm finding it harder to decide what really counts as an 'issue' and what doesn't. I've been thinkings, is better if I pretty much answer all questions regardless of value in these sections? Or just stick with more relevant ones? Anyway, here's some answers going by the original system._

_-Shahra is a character that, at least from the outset, that the reader is meant to dislike. Whiney, melodramatic and what I pretty much consider a Mary Sue (I could have perhaps handled this better, but since this started out as a oneshot, where such traits didn't matter so much, I pretty much dug my own grave), Shahra isn't someone the reader is meant to sympathise with; the type of person you respect in terms of representation yet not in character (eg. like Winston Smith from 'Nineteen Eighty-Four'). Exactly how well I pull this off is nebulous but I intend to have the Shahra at the end of the story being a very different individual from the one at the start. No promises though._

_-The whole 'social ladder' thing is basically something that I wanted to include as being (hopefully) different from standard character development. I'd rather not say too much on its nature right now, but suffice to say, despite what the chapter may imply, it hasn't faded completely from the story..._

_-The whole vision thing with the dragon turtle was indeed over the top and I felt that when writing it._ _Basically, it was written at a time when I was studying for exams, biology being among them. Senses were among biology's topics, part of which was the nature of vision in animals. With the dragon turtle, I was writing a fic _and _a practice essay simultaniously...sort of. Probably not the best idea though._

_Anyway, those are the 'issues' I identified. Word._


	12. Trouble Comes in Trios

_A/N_

_Kind of a paradox really, considering the time it took to get this chapter up when compared to its shorter than usual length. Thing is however, I've reached an unfortunate stage in the drafting, namely sporadic notes I made in-between study sessions for exams (I forget which exams exactly, they all kind of blurred in Year 12). As such, I had to edit and improvise a great deal, among which is the change in chapter title. Luckily I was still drafting after exams so I'll have better material to work with at some point. Anyway, here's issue responses;_

_-Trust me, I'm aware of draenei/eredar history, despite how convulted it appears sometimes. Ardelan's suspicion of Shahra, as hypocritical as it may seem, is intentional. Not even draenei are above prejudice._

_-The orcs were using writing before or during Kil'jaeden's corruption of them (it's been awhile since I've read RotH, I can't remember whether writing already existed for orcs or whether the concept was introduced). The fact that such utensils are a bit odd I guess, but given the circumstances surrounding them, I couldn't really go on a tangent. When you're coughing up blood and lossing conciousness, priorities come first. Orc writing ability isn't among them._

_-Going over the top is indeed a weakness of minde. I've tried to cut down in this chapter. And no, there's no Rambo or Latin vocab. ;)_

_

* * *

_

**Denial**

**Chapter 12: Trouble Comes in Trios**

_In many __religions, the Holy Light among them, there were tales of transcendence, a belief that upon death, the soul would be released from its earthly bonds and depart for a higher plain, an eternal, more universal realm. There was no real name for this state of existence, though the clerics of Northshire Abby, believing that in addition to the Light's presence throughout the universe there was a supreme deity, tended to coin the word "heaven" for such a place.._

_There was little to no evidence for such a claim, not unlike the idea of a supreme deity either. Still, light cannot exist without shadow, good cannot endure without evil. And when one considered of the Dark Below, or "hell" as it was sometimes known, surely, there had to be _some _counterpart…_

_Shahra Dreamsinger believed that there was a heaven. Because most certainly there was a hell, and it was called the Plaguelands. _

"_Hell on Azeroth," Shahra mused, looking out over the Western Plaguelands from the border of the Tirisfal Glades, situated on a hill south of Venomweb Vale. "Who__'d have thought such a thing would ever come to pass?" She shook her head. Things changed over time after all, sometimes subtlety, sometimes with the dead rising from below and demons descending from above._

_The Scourge had done its work well…too well. The__ disease that was the Plague of Undeath had not only swelled the Lich King's ranks with the deceased, but had also corrupted Lordaeron to its core, depriving the living of food, water and morale. After all, what was the point in fighting for a land that was dying before your eyes, a realm that was fast becoming a land that would soon no longer be your home? The answer was very little, and with the death of King Terenas Menethil II at the hands of his son Arthas, the concept of keeping up morale had rotted away completely…just like Lordaeron itself._

_The Third War had been a victory for the peoples of Azeroth. Those who had called Lordaeron home however, may have thought differently._

_Thunder rolled, the elf looking up towards the sky…the constant, blighted green sky that hung over the region like a miasma in Azeroth's stratosphere. It was never easy to tell whether it truly _was _going to rain, given that the sickly glow had no breaks in it, rarely allowing for distinction of individual clouds. Still, four years of living under such an unnatural shroud had allowed an instinct to develop, or rather, the altering of the link with nature that all elves ("well, most elves at least," Shahra reminded herself) possessed._

_Regardless of whatever the source of the high elf's intuition was, Shahra knew that it was going to rain. And hard._

_With a sigh, the quel'dorei pulled her hood over her head, the shadow the dark brown material casting a shadow over her features. The material had been designed with camouflage in mind, though had undoubtedly been aided by the dirt and grime that had accumulated over the years. Occasionally the amount would be reduced, the water pouring down from the heavens right now being one such source, but overall, hygiene was fighting a losing battle. Even her hair, once long, fine and golden, now lank and smeared with dirt, had thrown in the towel._

"_And who could give a damn about that?" Shahra wondered bitterly, digging through her cloak to find a piece of the Light forsaken substance known as kharosh. "I'm fighting against undeath in a land that's already lost its battle against such a force," she said, not fully realising that she was talking to herself. "The only ones apart from us to defend it are a bunch of zealous fanatics, a group of bookworm pacifists and, lo and behold, us. The middle ground."_

_She sighed again, picking away at the bread. "No wonder this place is hell," the elf mused. " After all, I-…"_

"_Wow Shahra, I think you just set a new record for cynicism."_

_With a start, Shahra raised her gaze, quickly finding the source of the voice and not being surprised in the least. After all, an individual sitting away from a campfire always made it abundantly clear that said individual sought solitude. In such cases, only the most idiotic and/or determined of people would seek to break it. Madril Ithilen however, did not fit either of these categories. As far as Shahra was concerned, he sought her company for one reason…_

_He was an arsehole._

"_How'd you know it was me?" Shahra grunted, turning back to face the ground sullenly.__ There was no doubt that Madril would take the hint that she wished to be left alone. Her hope was instead directed to the possibility that he might follow through with that hint._

"_There are only so many people in Finnall's company that embrace loner crap and all of them are easily recognisable," the gray haired human continued, drawing something out of his equally dirty tunic. "And considering our numbers, crap is something that we can ill afford."_

"_Yeah, I bet at your age that excreting brown stuff from your arse is getting difficult."_

_In times long gone, Shahra would have berated herself silently for resorting to such a poor insult while listening to others berate her vocally to resorting to insults at all. After all, it would not do for the quel'dorei to sully their culture with the crude phrases of lesser species. All that had changed on a fateful day in autumn however; with death all around you and _undeath_ closing in on you, insults tended to flow freely. With the living running for their lives or screaming as their lives reached their end, swearing had been one of the few things left in her life that Shahra could resort to when it came to maintaining her sanity._

_Right now, it seemed that maintaining sanity was postponing the inevitable._

"_Is there a reason why you're here?" Shahra asked, looking back at Madril as he took a piece of kharosh, sprinkled some herbs (exactly how he was able to obtain these was unknown to her) and began eating as if it gave him no problem._

"_Not really," he answered between mouthfuls of the disgusting substance. "But hey, we've all got to find something to do between ambushes. You and your kind manage to occupy yourselves each morning after all. _

_Shahra went to say something, thought better of it, then went back to facing the ground, twisting a piece of decaying grass between her fingers, the kharosh stored for later. She'd given up trying to explain to Madril as to the necessity of meditation, that not "wasting" an hour each morning would only result in the party's limited numbers being diminished. With the Sunwell destroyed, every high elf had to either resist his or her addiction to magic, or resort to the alternative._

"_And _that _is something that will never happen," the quel'dorei reminded herself, yet turning to look northeast as she did so. It was funny really, how Arthas had declared that Lordaeron would be reborn and for once, had been telling the truth. Lordaeron had been reborn into degradation…just like Quel'Thalas had been reborn into degeneracy._

_Degradation and degeneracy…rolled off the tongue nicely._

_Of course, there was nothing _nice_ about one's homeland being in the hands of your enemy. Undead who destroyed your culture, or those who simply perverted it. Shahra sighed as she returned to facing the ground. She'd never returned to Quel'Thalas after the Scourge invaded…it had become a land of extremes. One minute it was a barren wasteland where the undead walked, the next it was a forest teeming with fel magic, courtesy of the sin'dorei…those who had turned their backs on everything the quel'dorei stood for. Those who gave into their addiction rather than resisted it. Those who sacrificed culture for hedonism…_

…_those who did what was easy rather than what was right._

"_The world's gone to hell," Shahra mused bitterly, twisting the grass even further. "Undead in Lordaeron, blood elves in Quel'Thalas and waging guerrilla war against the former is the middle ground!? At this rate I'll-…"_

"_Dreamsinger! Ithilen! Front and centre!"_

_With a start, Shahra leapt to her feet as Madril (who had been yammering on about something that the high elf neither knew nor cared about) straightened himself up, throwing the kharosh away. Under normal circumstances Shahra would have chastised him for throwing away food that, no matter how disgusting, was the only substance they could rely on constantly. Of course, with your commanding officer quickly approaching, First Lieutenant Shahra Dreamsinger thought of one thing only-standing tall, throwing back your hood and giving a crisp salute._

_Finnall Goldensword tended to have that effect on people._

_Shahra, and indeed, the bulk of her fellow rangers, would never deny that their worlds (and indeed, the world as a whole) had gone to hell in recent years and that they were situated in its proverbial centre. Under a normal leader, the Dalarani Rangers would probably have disbanded long ago. Finnall Goldensword however, was far from normal. Daughter of the high elf sorceress Kilnar Goldensword and as rumour held, Admiral Daelin Proudmoore of Kul Tiras, the half elf was a natural leader and fighter. _

_For her part, Shahra had no doubt that the rumours were true. Proudmoore could be an arrogant arse at times when he was alive, but was without doubt a skilled leader, both in running his country and defending it. Shahra could appreciate both the logistical nightmare that Finnall faced in having to maintain a guerrilla war against the Scourge while ensuring her own talents remained sharp. The half elf may have taken after her mother in terms of appearance, with long brown hair and green eyes that were not tainted by arcane or fel magic, but Proudmoore's martial traits were definitely also present. A bastard child maybe, but as long as Goldensword didn't go on suicidal attacks on Horde controlled land bent on genocide, Shahra had no problem with the human side of her leader._

"_Bal'a dash (greetings), Captain," said Shahra smoothly._

"_Ditto," grunted Madril casually._

_Finnall returned the salute casually, dashing Shahra's hopes that she'd discipline her counterpart where he stood. Of course, the chances of that ever happening were next to none. Unity was something that Finnall's band required and assaulting a fellow member of your triumvirate wasn't going to help matters. After all, the command structure was representative of the company as a whole; a high elf and human fighting alongside each other, with a half elf to unify them. Not an accurate representation in terms of the gender ratio, but fitting racially._

"_Muster your platoons, we're moving out," said Finnall abruptly. With that, she began walking in the opposite direction. _

"_Ma'am?" asked Madril. "Moving out to where, exactly?"_

"_An undead force is moving past our position," answered the half elf without breaking stride. "We set up, send a few to hell and loot whatever we can. Same as usual."_

_Madril chuckled as Finnall continued walking. "Strange isn't it, how a half elf is giving us orders. A few years ago that would be unheard of."_

"_Your point?" Shahra asked._

"_There's no point," the human answered, heading off to muster his platoon. "It's just strange how times changed._

_Shahra remained silent, remaining still for a moment before releasing her bow. A Thalassian longbow as the case was; maximum range of 350 yards, yet compact enough for use in short range projectile fights. Generally academic features as the Scourge's ranged prowess was distinctly lacking, but Finnall had made sure that Shahra was made aware of them. _

_Shahra had become aware of a lot of things in recent years; how to skin animals, how to wield a sword, how she was apparently a natural choice to lead second platoon. Other facts had made themselves clear also, such as the fact that her upcoming 111__th__ birthday was going to be like any other day rather than a day of celebration as a quel'dorei passed into adulthood…an adulthood that she'd already reached in a sense, 60 being the new mark due to a reduced lifespan. Silvermoon, Quel'Thalas, a life of comfort and stability…it was all gone, with nothing left save vengeance…_

_With a shrug, Shahra walked off._

_After all, times changed…_

* * *

"Shahra, do you have any idea what time it is?" 

Her eyes opening suddenly, Shahra was suddenly aware of a lot of things. The exact time of day was unknown to her (though the faint streams of light coming in through the window suggested that it was close to noon), but other facts still presented themselves to the high elf. Among these were the facts that she was in a bed in an orc's hut in Outland, namely the Netherstorm and not in the Plaguelands of Azeroth. Another, more disconcerting fact was that she was in the company of a human who, in recent times, had turned out to be more of an arsehole than Madril could ever hope to be…

Sighing, the quel'dorei removed her face from the pillow, glad that she'd fallen asleep in her regular attire. Not very good for hygiene, but the notion of having Leo look down on her with nothing but underclothing on made her stomach turn.

"Sorry Leo, I've no idea," she answered snidely looking up at the figure looming above the bed.

"Figures," Leo grunted, devoid of any sense of friendliness that had made itself manifest over the last few days. He walked around to the side of the bed, akin to a wolf circling its prey. "Sleeping beauty was no doubt out of sync when she was woken, even without the mumbling."

"Mumbling?" Shahra asked, attempts at remaining frosty temporarily forgotten. "I was mumbling again?"

Leo shrugged, reversing his direction. "You were when I came in. Before that…well, I don't care. It's irrelevant."

"That's a surprise," Shahra murmured.

The high elves had generally been gifted at diplomacy and while Shahra was no diplomat, enough of such a trait had been passed down to allow her to realise that she'd made a mistake with her words. After all, the alpha male stopping sharply and turning to face you in less than three seconds was never a good sign.

"Listen _donkey ears_," Leo snarled, the term now fully derogatory. "You've wasted nearly a full morning by hogging the bed and mumbling about Light knows what. If it wasn't for Ardelan, I would have left long ago."

"Ardelan?" Shahra asked, perplexed. "He convinced you to wait?"

Leo snorted. "Ardelan's a bleeding heart who believes in doing the right thing, even if it's for the wrong reasons." The human began pacing again. "Hell of a time to apply that philosophy…"

Despite her surprise that the…alright, _draenei _had a moral centre, Shahra still found her attention drifting back towards the human that she'd considered a friend only yesterday. Now more awake than she had been a few minutes ago, the high elf could see that Leo had…changed, somehow. By way of appearance, the only difference was that he'd applied the gnomish shaver, his beard having shrunk to what bordered on a goatee, his sideburns now completely absent. Indeed, if one didn't know the man, such a change would probably have been seen as fashion statement.

For better or worse however, Shahra _did _know the man and could see beyond the obvious. With most of his hair gone, he looked about a decade younger. His stride had changed also, becoming more ordered, self confident… Any sense of humour was gone, his armour and the battlesword sheathed across his back reinforcing the fact that only iron discipline remained. Military material almost…

"Anyway, you've wasted enough time as it is," Leo continued, heading for the door without looking back. "Suit yourself up and meet us outside."

Despite the almost subconscious resolution that had passed through Shahra's mind to treat Leo with the cold indifference that the sociopathic son of a bitch deserved, the high elf obeyed without question. Ears burning with shame, she quickly began putting her boots on, ready to follow the trio's apparent leader.

It was strange, but Shahra found herself reminded of Tempest Keep, when she'd formed her first impressions of the man. Waking up now, it was virtually a case of déjà vu. Unlike before however, Leo hadn't made a new impression on her…rather, it was an impression reborn.

"_Still, there's nothing wrong with hurrying I guess," _Shahra reminded herself. _"The sooner I get out of the Netherstorm, the sooner I get back to Hellfire Peninsula and the sooner I…"_

She trailed off. What then? Return to Azeroth? Return to a world of bigotry and suspicion? Return to…to…

Nothing.

The elf sighed, facing the ground and holding her hands in her lap. It was funny really, how she'd been so focussed on _how _she was to escape from Tempest Keep and from those inside, that she'd never considered _why _she was doing so. What was there to return to on Azeroth apart from bigotry and prejudice? Stormwind? Finnall's rangers? Quel'Thalas?

On one hand, Shahra knew that her options were open. On another, she knew that there were no options at all.

As she rose, the high elf knew that Leo had done her a favour. He'd not only shown his true colours but had also shown her the nature of reality…a reality where choice was irrelevant, where friendship was fleeting, where the concept of cause and effect was redundant. He'd made her realise the nature of her existence and that of her people…

Limbo.

* * *

"_They're not Scourge, ma'am."_

_That, to Shahra, was stating the obvious and part of the high elf's mind prompted her to inform Madril that he'd done such a thing. The rotting corpses, marching in column formation, moved far too swiftly for the standard Scourge detachment, not to mention that all of them had some amount of rotting skin left on their bodies. Most telling however, was the single banner they bore. The shattered face, the worn arrows, the raven on the shield…_

_The Icon of Torment._

_It seemed like an irreconcilable paradox for Shahra to combine melodrama with hatred but somehow the Forsaken had pulled it off. Maybe it came as part of the package of retaining your sanity in undeath. Maybe it came from the knowledge that the whole world was against you and that in your kind, it was every undead man for himself. Maybe it came from… Shahra shook her head. The psyche of the Forsaken could stem from a lot of things, but it wasn't worth dwelling over. Start feeling sorry for the undead and things could become complicated._

_Admittedly, Shahra didn't know much about the Forsaken. They'd betrayed Lord Garithos (no great loss really, the arrogant arse got what he had coming to him) and maintained their independence from the Lich King, fighting a two front war against the Scourge and Scarlet Crusade and somehow holding their ground against both. Oh, and they'd also allied with the Horde, making for a diplomatic nightmare._

_It was such a problem that Shahra could tell was going through Finnall's mind right now._

"_Orders, ma'am?" asked Madril uneasily, asking the same question that every ranger wished to ask. Shahra looked across the company, each ranger, whether they be human, high elf or somewhere in-between, grasping their weapons like lifelines. _

"_Ma'am?" asked Madril, more forcefully this time. "Do we engage or not?"_

_Finnall's silence continued, for which Shahra couldn't blame her. Engaging the Scourge was something that they did at every opportunity, without regret. The Forsaken however, were a different kettle of fish._

_Prejudice and/or sympathy aside, the Banshee Queen's forces presented a conundrum tactically. On one hand, they made an effective meat shield against the Scourge, preventing the Lich King's forces from establishing themselves fully in the Tirisfal Glades and diverting his attention from the rest of the living world. Hell, they even made a good vanguard against the Scarlet Crusade in a sense, whose members, upon seeing anyone who looked slightly less than 100 percent living, tended to shout "burn him!" and proceed to do just that._

_(Sometimes it was a case of "burn her!" Not so often the case however; the unfortunate female would probably be raped before being burnt)._

_On the other hand, the Forsaken were still an issue that had to be dealt with. Living and undead couldn't live side by side in harmony and Sylvanas' undead were residing on land that once belonged to the living. Lordaeron was one of the most ancient of the human kingdoms and to see it in the hands of the undead understandably irked many._

_As far as the question as attacking went, Shahra knew that Finnall was being presented with another issue. The Forsaken were allied with the Horde and could possibly be bearing food to trade with their allies; food that the rangers could benefit greatly from. Unfortunately, their alliance with the Horde was a double edged sword. Sylvanas, former Ranger General of Silvermoon and now leader of the Forsaken, was no fool and could easily turn any attack on her forces as a sign of military aggression. Shahra was in no position to gauge as to whether the Horde would be particularly inclined to answer such a call, but past history, and the fact that they could even consider allying with undead in the first place, didn't offer much comfort._

"_We're not going to attack," said Finnall eventually. Her voice was soft, but every ranger heard it…especially Madril._

"_What!?" he hissed. "We have a column of undead marching to the Undercity and you just want to-…"_

"_That's my point exactly!" Finnall exclaimed. "These Forsaken are presumably heading to the Undercity, so any delay or casualties we incur will be quickly reported."_

"_I still think-…"_

"_And what about the numbers?" Finnall continued, turning back to face the column. "One hundred of us against one hundred of them. Hardly…"_

_Finnall trailed off, simply staring at the marching column. Her lieutenants, and indeed every ranger in her force, stared at her._

"_Ma'am?" asked Madril softly. "Is there something wrong?"_

_No answer._

"_Ma'am?" he asked again._

"_There is a problem," said Finnall softly. "Their numbers."_

_In an instant, Shahra realised what Finnall was referring to, even if Madril didn't (the human maintaining that numbers were irrelevant). Finnall wasn't referring to respective numbers…_

…_She was referring to raw numbers._

_One hundred was admittedly an estimate, but accurate nonetheless. However, unless Sylvanas had installed a new regimental system for the Forsaken, a group of one hundred soldiers was hardly standard. Too large for a platoon, but too small for a company. Not that formations always had to be adhered to of course (two platoons could easily travel as one force for instance) but flying the banner high and marching in an organized column, it looked pretty damn official._

"_And I can see why," said Finnall suddenly, as if reading Shahra's mind, though was simply completing her sentence. "It's an escort. For _them._"_

_Shahra and Madril quickly saw who "them" were. A party of three located at the rear of the column. A trio of-…_

"_Blood elves," Madril whispered. "Prisoners perhaps?"_

"_Unlikely," answered Shahra, subconsciously tightening her grip on her bow. "You don't leave prisoners at the rear of a column unguarded. Especially when these prisoners are two Spell Breakers and a blood mage."_

_Madril fell silent as he continued watching, even his human eyes being able to make out what Shahra and Finnall could__; a single blood mage, flanked by tall, well armed and armoured sin'dorei Spell Breakers. An odd combination in a sense, given the tall warriors' penchant for stripping their foes of mana, but then again, blood elves were marching with _undead_. The entire situation was odd. _

"_What the hell is going on?" Shahra asked herself, despite knowing that there wasn't an answer. What in the name of the Light could possibly prompt a trio of sin'dorei to walk in close proximity to the Forsaken? Why would undead be willing to guard them? Why would-…_

"_Finnall? Madril asked, ever the direct one.__ "Your orders?"_

_At first, the half elf didn't reply, at least not vocally. She'd presumably heard the question, considering that she stood up slowly and deliberately, but that was far from an adequate response._

"_Ma'am?" asked the human again. "What are we to-…"_

"_Open fire," said Finnall forcefully, ensuring every ranger heard her. "Open fire, separate the blood elves from the Forsaken and kill any undead that gets in your way."_

_With a surprising surge of blood lust, Shahra was only too happy to oblige._

…

…

"**Exhilarating, isn't it?"**

* * *

"Piece of silver for your thoughts?" 

With a start, Shahra snapped back to reality, not sure whether reality was really a better alternative. She'd gone from the sickly, diseased realm of the Plaguelands on Azeroth to the magic infused, hellish realm of the Netherstorm in Outland. She let out an audible sigh. _"Isn't there a happy in-between?" _she wondered.

"Something wrong?"

In an instant, the high elf found herself preferring the Plaguelands. Diseased and plagued by undead of course, but far more simple. At least in the Plaguelands one didn't have to stand face to face with an eredar/draenei who, in stark contrast to grasping you by the neck upon first arrival, was asking you how you were. Oh, and there was also a human who liked to stab people in the proverbial back and be a jerk while he was at it.

Related to Madril no doubt.

"Pardon?" Shahra asked, looking up at Ardelan and appreciating the uncomfortable differences in height and strength. Oh, and there was also the issue as to how the hell it was able to speak Common so well, heavy accent not withstanding.

"I asked if there was anything wrong," the blue skinned…thing said, looking down at the elf with curiosity. "You were mumbling like there was no tomorrow."

"Mumbling?" Shahra asked curiously.

"Yes," Ardelan said, sounding curious, at least superficially. "Is there a problem?"

Shahra resisted the urge to laugh at that. A problem?Hell, this entire situation was a problem! Here she was, in the middle of nowhere, the only company being a human on the edge of the abyss blowing into a high pitched whistle for some reason and a giant blue skinned eredar who claimed to not be an eredar at all but rather a draenei. A heavily armoured, hammer wielding draenei whom Shahra had no doubt was looking for an excuse to use it. Oh, and there was the fact that she was seemingly slipping into dreams and flashbacks while she was _awake._

Damn.

"You don't trust me, do you?" Shahra said eventually, turning back to face Leo and continuing to imagine a variety of unpleasant things she could heap on him.

"No."

The high elf turned with a start, surprised at the bluntness. She wasn't sure why, but she'd expected the…whatever he was to beat around the bush or flat out deny her claim, not respond via a one word statement.

"Why should I?" Ardelan continued. "You came from Tempest Keep, haven't procured any proof as to your nature, not to mention that-…"

"Oh spare me!" snapped the quel'dorei, turning so that she was looking at neither Ardelan nor Leo. Ardelan seemed to be on the verge of repeating Leo's words from last night, something she was in no mood to hear again. "I've heard it before."

Shahra was under no delusions as to her ability to intimidate the draenei, but at least hoped that he would take the hint that she was in no mood to converse with blue skinned, tentacle chinned giants that maintained friendships with people like Leo. Given the sound of the draenei's soft chuckling however, that clearly wasn't the case.

"Leo never told you, did he?" the draenei asked.

"Hmm? Told me what?" The high elf's voice was distant, courtesy of the 'ice queen' persona she was trying to maintain. Much to her frustration, the faint curiosity building up in her was already thawing the ice.

"Obviously not," the draenei murmured. "Never mind."

Shahra spun around to face him, her eyes blazing. "Listen, draenei, if you bring something up, you may as well-…"

"I'm under no obligation to do anything," Ardelan answered firmly. "If Leo wants to let you in on little tibits, that's his decision, not mine."

"But he confided in you?"

Ardelan's visage darkened. "He didn't have to. I know what happened." He waved his hand, obviously regretting having brought the subject up in the first place. "Anyway, don't you have to meditate or something?"

Shahra blinked. Truth be told, meditation had never entered her mind. True, she'd had to cut down on such a practice over the last week, but even so...

"_It doesn't matter anyway," _Shahra reminded herself. _"It's not as if that cave dweller would let me take the time."_

It was strange really, how quickly friendship could change to loathing. Then again, Shahra reminded herself, strange things had pretty much become a given in Outland, none of them particularly comforting.

"_This is becoming absurd," _the high elf thought. _"The voice in Tempest Keep, Tartarus refusing to kill me, the dreams, eredar who aren't really eredar, friends who…" _She trailed off. She'd about to think something along the lines of "friends who stab people in the back and deserve to rot in hell for it" but circumstances had changed, circumstances that filled her with awe and fear in equal measure.

Gryphons tended to have that effect on people.

"Gotta hand it to you Ardelan, you certainly know how to plan an exit," said Leo as he walked back to his companions, whistle in hand, looking more cheerful that Shahra had seen him in the last twelve hours.

"Exit!?" Shahra exclaimed, looking up at the…things that had just landed. "You call gryphons an exit!?"

"What, you think we could have flown over the gap between the Netherstorm and Hellfire Peninsula ourselves?" Ardelan asked with a small, obviously forced smile, Leo giving her a look one reserves for people who ask "what's so bad about genocide?" The draenei gestured to the whistle in Leo's hand. "It's a high pitched whistle with low frequency properties. Draenei crafted."

Shahra understood immediately. High pitched so that the gryphons could hear and no-one else that might be listening, yet with a low frequency so that it could travel over distances. Impressive. So impressive in fact, that Shahra could only fault the setup one way.

"There's two gryphons," she said, stating the obvious. "And three of us."

"My apologies," said Ardelan civilly. "We weren't expecting an extra…person."

Shahra sighed. Ardelan may have disliked and distrusted her, but at least he was making an effort not show it, unlike-…

"Actually, baggage is a more accurate word."

…unlike a certain human.

"Anyway, it's no great loss," continued the draenei as he walked over to one of the gryphons, placing his hand on its beak in a sign of reverence. "Hermes here should be able to carry both of you."

"**WHAT!?" **Leo and Shahra exclaimed simultaneously.

Both draenei and gryphon grinned (exactly whether the gryphon was truly grinning was nebulous, but it certainly gave the impression) at the human and high elf.

"Come on Leo, surely you knew this would be the travel arrangement," said Ardelan.

"Yes but…" Leo squirmed uneasily. "Couldn't she travel with you?"

Sorry, I'm all that Aeros can take." Ardelan walked over to the larger, seemingly elder gryphon. "Draenei are heavy creatures (_"or at least your armour is," _Shahra thought, looking at the plate mail and again reflecting how similar it was to that of a paladin,) and we had no gryphons on Argus." It was clear that as far as he was concerned, the issue was settled.

Not so with Leo however.

"This is a joke," Leo murmured to himself darkly, either ignoring or forgetting that a certain high elf was next to him "He expects me to ride with a magic addicted-…"

"Oh knock it off you kim'jael!" Shahra shouted, so angry that she'd lapsed into her own language.

"Kim'jael? You mean a little rat?" Leo asked in surprise.

"Yes, a little rat," said Shahra, applying a great deal of self restraint. "It's not as if you're on the losing end of this bargain."

"Losing end!?" Leo exclaimed. "I'm forced to ride with-…"

"Someone who let herself be deluded," Shahra interrupted. "It's not as if anything changed for _you _in the last few days, it's not as if _you _had to be awakened to reality." Her features relaxed slightly.

"Or _did_ something change?" she asked softly. "Something that's made you resent me?"

Leo remained silent, remaining still, yet looking uneasy. In truth, Shahra was grateful for his silence. Not really out of a desire to see him this way, but simply that his delay gave her time to recover. The anger she'd felt, it was…well, _intense_. Not natural. Or if it _was_ natural, it wasn't something that she was used to.

"You wouldn't understand," said Leo abruptly. He turned around and headed for the gryphon. "Now come on. They're waiting for us."

"They?" the elf asked. "Who's they?"

The human didn't answer and in retrospect, Shahra didn't expect him to. Sighing, she followed him and boarded the gryphon, feeling physically ill as she was forced to put her arms around his waist to ensure she didn't fall off the overgrown feather duster.

"_Well, at least there's a bright side to this," _Shahra reminded herself. _"Hellfire Peninsula can't possibly be as bad as the Netherstorm. And besides, I'm one step closer to leaving this Light forsaken rock and…well, returning home I guess."_

The prospect wasn't as thrilling as she may have expected once, sometime in the past. Back before things changed…

"_Still," _she reflected, _"at least the worst is over…"_

* * *

Darkness. 

Darkness did not cover Shadowmoon Valley, the area of land in Outland's southwest. No, darkness _was _Shadowmoon Valley.

A perfect setting for the Black Temple all things considered.

The Black Temple…once the Temple of Karabor, renamed the Black Temple, then Black Citadel, then Black Temple again. The structure had changed hands many times over the decades, all in an equally bloody fashion. The pinnacle of carnage, genocide in physical form.

Odd then, that the summit of the structure was perhaps the most…peaceful? True, it was a place of depravity. True, it was under a tortured sky of dark clouds pierced by fel green light. Yet apart from the single, hunched figure in its centre, it was empty. Silent. Devoid of life.

Devoid of life? The figure was a statue then?

Hardly.

Few statues possessed giant wings and curved blades.

Few statues combined the appearance of night elf and demon.

Few statues breathed shallowly.

Few statues' eyes suddenly opened, fel green light blazing from a tortured soul.

And _very _few statues went by the name of Illidan Stormrage…


	13. Out of the Frying Pan

**Denial**

**Chapter 13: Out of the Frying Pan...**

From the Black Temple, the Betrayer gazed over his realm.

There were two flaws with that analogy and the..._thing _that was Illidan Stormrage knew it. It was he who had been betrayed, had been locked underground for ten thousand years for embracing the birthright of the kaldorei, to use that birthright to defeat the Burning Legion. The term "Betrayer" was as much a lie as was the belief that magic was an inherently corruptive force.

The other flaw with the analogy was that Outland was not entirely his realm. Not yet at least, but having spent over half of his life caged in darkness, the twin brother of Malfurion Stormrage had learnt something in the way of patience. He knew that in time the broken world that was once Draenor would be his, that he could sup its magic to his heart's content. Certainly there were those who would resist his rule, the Sha'tar, the so-called "born of light" primarily among them, closely followed by the vermin from Azeroth who sought to control this world's portals. _His _portals.

The demon/night elf hybrid sniffed in content. They were beneath him. It was a wonder that he even bothered with their presence.

Still, rats could sink a ship given enough time, gnawing away at its foundations until the vessel sank and they fled, seeking another area to live and begin the cycle again. It was therefore best to be himself and show no mercy. It was only a matter of time before Kil'jaeden came to Outland to punish him for his failure to destroy the Frozen Throne, before the cycle of destruction that plagued the homeworld of the orcs began again. A storm was coming, and he had the scar on his chest to prove it. Frostmourne's touch had been cold, even more so than Northrend. And if not for the timely arrival of Kael'thas and Lady Vashj, there was every chance that Arthas' list of victims might have increased by one.

Illidan snarled. That he owed his life to..._them _made him ill.

Sighing, the Betrayer rose from his meditation, casting his burning gaze over Shadowmoon Valley. He couldn't see it per se. Not in the conventional sense at least, the Dark Titan himself having replaced his original eyes with baleful orbs millennia ago, in order so that he might see demons and undead more clearly. But it was so saturated in fel energy that he was hardly at a disadvantage. No-one could approach the Black Temple without him knowing. Regardless of what vermin dwelled throughout Outland, Shadowmoon Valley was at least pure. A haven of magic. And knowing who and what he faced, those who would seek to topple him from his rightful place as the ruler of this world, he would be able to deal with them in time.

Something had changed however.

Turning his gaze northwards, Illidan cast his mind out, trying to detect the...anomaly. It was faint...so faint that he doubted there was anyone else in existence who could sense it. Fel magic was spread throughout Outland, but the source of this magic was different. "Muzzled" somehow, as if held back or mixed with some other source of power. This was something that he hadn't encountered before. And while no longer a true kaledorei, the Brother Stormrage was not without a degree of his original curiosity. A curiosity driven by utilitarianism perhaps, but curiosity nonetheless. Something was up north. Something that, as far as he could tell, was currently crossing the void between Hellfire Peninsula and the Netherstorm.

Was Kael'thas up to something? Or was something else afoot?

Flexing his wings and taking flight, the Betrayer prepared to find out.

* * *

_Perhaps I could get used to this._

The situation wasn't perfect. If Hyperion was truly in power and the place he wanted to be, he wouldn't have to get used to anything. Leaders shaped the world to their own ends after all. They didn't let it dictate their fate.

_But it wasn't the world who dictated my fate. Kael'thas did._

The astromancer shrugged. There was no use being angry at the sin'dorei prince. He had other people to hate right now.

Fort Elron might have been in the middle of nowhere, but at least he ruled it. And seated on his throne, he was beginning to enjoy it. True, Tartarus and Astaroth had little, if any respect for him, but a kingdom didn't have to be based on those things to function. Fear was just as useful a tool and while he doubted the fel orc and eredar were capable of such an emotion, the majority of the fort's population _were_. He was their leader, their master, their _god_. And even if his superiors cared how he ran things, he was far too isolated for them to do much about it. He could act as he saw fit, damn the consequences.

So while he was aware of the phrase "don't shoot the messenger," the ruler of Fort Elron that he was perfectly within his rights to blast the guard approaching his throne, to do anything from sending him running to reducing the blood elf to his constituent atoms. Not that it would do him much good and indeed, there was no reason to. But still, it was so tempting...

"Lord Hyperion," said the guard, kneeling on the floor as was proper. "I have come bringing dire news."

"I doubt that. If your news was dire, you'd stop wasting my time and cut to the chase."

Taking the hint, the sin'dorei rose to his feet, his gaze wandering to the two...bodyguards that flanked astromancer. Hulking eight feet tall giants, clad in robes of darkest night that obscured all parts of their bodies, including their visages. An intimidating sight to be sure and Hyperion was satisfied to see that it was working. He'd learnt something in the way of fear from Asteroth and while the setup was slightly ironic in that respect, Hyperion found it worth it.

After all, how could rule Outland by any method other than fear?

"We received word from our sentries in the Mountains of Flame," said the blood elf. "A pair of gryphon riders have been sighted crossing the range, heading south to Hellfire Peninsula. And while their ultimate destination is unknown, they will be passing within range of Fort Elron within the hour."

Hyperion remained silent, taking this all in. He could remember a time where the news of approaching gryphons was cause for great celebration, the Alliance's main defence against the dragons of the Horde in the Second War. But times had changed. Changed where the Alliance were now his people's enemy and by extension, their mounts. Not that beasts of burden were race-exclusive of course, but if there was any focal point of the majestic creatures in Outland, he had yet to learn of it.

_But from the north of all places? Krin'Var village was purged long ago and it's not as if there are any other bastions of power up there apart from Tempest Keep. And Kael might be a reprobate, but it's not as if he's hiding..._

Hyperion stopped short.

Gryphons were intelligent creatures. Intelligent enough to come to the aid of those who sought to ride them, regardless of distance. And hadn't two members of races belonging to the Alliance escaped from Tempest Keep not so long ago, the same escape that seemed to prompt the sin'dorei prince sending the astromancer to Fort Elron in the first place. The human and high elf couldn't have taken much with them when they escaped, let alone anything to summon flying beasts, but who was to say that they were the ones who did the calling? Shattrath City, Honour Hold...there were many centres of resistance to the Illidari in Outland and it didn't take much to assume that they conformed to the creed of "the enemy of my enemy is my friend." Not that the pair could do much to their enemies, but poking the Illidari in the eye was about all the bodies of resistance could aspire to at this point.

The astromancer tightened his grip on his throne. He _had _been poked in the eye and quite painfully at that. And while he was beginning to get used to his new role here, blood had to be spilt for blood. That was the creed of the sin'dorei and he would not dishonour his people by being an exception.

"Release the couatl," said Hyperion to the guard. "Send them to the Mountains of Flame and have the riders bash'a no falor talah!" _(Taste the chill of true death!)_

The guard raised an eyebrow. "My lord, isn't that a bit extreme? The couatl are vicious creatures and-..."

"That's exactly the point!" exclaimed the astromancer, remembering the carnage the flying amphibians had wrecked on the Scourge in Northrend. "Those riding the gryphons are of those who would show our people no mercy and as such, deserve none." He leant back in his throne. "Now leave us. Execute my will."

Nodding, the guard left to do just that.

Despite the question of his authority, Hyperion was still satisfied. He was sounding like a leader and if the messenger's reaction was anything to go by, the sound reached more than his own ears. A bit like Kael'thas in a sense...

_Not quite sure whether I'm so happy about that. Especially since...hmm?_

Hyperion had been interrupted again. Not by a fellow blood elf, but by a shining light from a gold inset on his throne. An alert to a message being sent by magic. Pressing the button, an image of the last person Hyperion wanted to see appeared in front of him.

"Kael'thas Sunstrider..." said the astromancer slowly, rising to his feet as he did so. "This is...unexpected."

"Spare me Hyperion. I have no time for word games. Just tell me...is there anything to report?"

Hyperion remained silent, locking his gaze in with that of Kael'thas. Something was...different about him. Subtle differences, true, but with his golden hair more lank, dark circles under his eyes and somehow lacking his usual regal dignity, they added up to something impossible to miss. And his voice...a dreary monotone, completely lacking the snideness that he'd shown his subordinate back at Tempest Keep. Granted, assigning Hyperion to the middle of nowhere entitled Kael to such a thing, but the astromancer was still stuck here. What was going on?

_Something that doesn't concern me, _he decided.

"As a matter of fact, there is," said Hyperion, making great effort to keep his voice civil in case his master was trying to bait him into some kind of trap. "I received news not long ago that two gryphons have been sighted over the Mountains of Flame and will pass within range of Fort Elron."

Kael nodded slowly. "I thought as much. What action have you taken?"

"Couatl, my prince. I-..."

"Couatl!?" Kael exclaimed. "But they'll tear them apart!"

"Um...yes," said Hyperion slowly. "But isn't that the point? To show our enemies no mercy?"

Kael remained silent. And while Hyperion once again felt himself to be in a position where he could flaunt his authority, he didn't take it. The situation was different this time. Less clear cut. "Very well...what's done is done," said the prince eventually. "However, if the girl should survive, I want her alive. Inform me if this is the case."

"What!?" Hyperion exclaimed. "You want...oh, why do I even bother?" he asked. "Fine, Kael. Play your game. I'll keep your concubine alive."

The prince smiled faintly. "Thank you Hyperion. But it's not all lost. There's still a chance that the other two might survive as well. And if that's the case, feel free to kill them as slowly as you like."

Hyperion smiled. How Kael knew (or was he assuming?) there were three riders on two gryphons was a mystery. But the opening he'd left him, to harken back to his old days at Tempest Keep...

_Yes. I _could _get used to this._

* * *

_It was like shooting fish in a barrel._

_At least Shahra assumed it was like shooting fish in a barrel as Finnall's company opened fire on the undead. She'd never handled an actual firearm before and if, Light forbid, she actually resorted to using a black powder weapon, the high elf hoped that it would be used for something more constructive than ending the lives of creatures swimming in a container of water. And of course, that was assuming the Plaguelands ever returned to a state where it was worth obtaining water in the first place, let alone fish that hadn't fallen to the Plague of Undeath._

**Or you could just shoot dead fish in poisoned water, **the voice said. **And what makes you think you'll always be here?**

_Shahra ignored it. She was shooting with a bow at targets that were actually worth shooting at. That was all that mattered._

_With grim satisfaction, the quel'dorei watched as one of her arrows passed through one of the throats of the Forsaken, the...thing falling down in while what she supposed was gurgling, as if they had any fluid remaining in them. Or perhaps it was cursing. It wasn't as if a difference existed between Gutterspeak and the sound of death. They were merely two sides of the same coin._

But what about a third side? _Shahra wondered. _There's death, and two forms of undeath in this world, or at least two factions. Should we make a distinction?

**Perhaps. Or perhaps you should stop wasting your time on the unimportant questions and concentrate on the here and now.**

_That seemed to be a wise course of action, since Finnall was leading the rangers down against the column, or rather what was left of it. Either from fear or common sense, most of the Forsaken had fled, specifically from the point of the greatest concentration of arrow fire. And as that point had been centred near the rear of the column, between where the undead and their sin'dorei companions were, there were very few of the walking corpses left._

_All things considered, the high elf saw little reason not to follow suit._

_As if resigned to fate, some of the Forsaken stood and fought. Relatively speaking, not many of their kind had fallen in the ambush. Despite whatever sentience they might have possessed, they were still undead and thus could only be killed through lethal blows or mass destruction, anything else useless. So coming face-to-face with one of her tainted-kin's escorts, Shahra stood her ground and waited. Best to wait for an opening and exploit it rather than hacking away like a dwarf after a few drinks._

_Or a Forsaken who growled something unintelligible and started swinging away with his axe._

"_And the same to you," the quel'dorei murmured, dodging and parrying the man's blows. Or former man really, as despite being a human in his former life, not much of that had survived the transition to undead. Gray skin, amber eyes, a smell beyond comprehension...But maybe there _was _some of humanity's former spirit in him. Because exploiting an opening in a manner that involved kicking the undead in a place that no male of any species liked to be kicked, having the creature recoil and grasp said area in pain was not what the high elf expected._

"_Oh come on, it's not as if you could use it anyway," Shahra exclaimed, reluctant to deliver a finishing blow when incapacitated in such a manner. "If you think you're fooling anyone you're-..."_

_She didn't get to finish her accusation. Well, she could have, but it seemed redundant with the undead having been returned to actual death, courtesy of a throwing knife embedded in the back of its neck. Quickly finding the source, she wondered if she should use it on Madril instead. He was human too, after all. He couldn't possibly match the one-liner she had planned._

"_Less chat, more splat blondie," grunted the ranger, bending down to extract the blade as he did so._

_Or maybe he could match it. Or at least he could until he was suddenly engulfed in flames, his screams intense, but mercifully short. _

_Shahra didn't know what happened. Still, with the blood mage approaching her flanked by his two spellbreakers, she had a good idea. All this time, focussing on the bodyguard of the target while forgetting about the target itself. It would have been humorous if not for the fact that there was a strong chance that she'd go the same way as her...yes, her friend. An admission coming far too late for the poor man, but one the elf wanted to make internally, even if the world never heard it._

_Would the blood elf listen to it? Would he even _care?

"_Surprised, ranger?" the blood mage asked, his fel green eyes locking in with his quel'dorei counterpart. "I suppose cowardly attacks are the purview of your kind. I guess it never occurred to you that some of us are actually willing to _fight_."_

_Shahra remained silent. She hadn't expected this._

"_You're not much for words, are you?" asked the sin'dorei. "Well, I suppose that doesn't matter. It's clear you want me alive, regardless of how many innocent lives you're willing to end to capture me."_

"_We do," Shahra murmured, unable to bring herself to retort that striking down undead wasn't the same as ending a life. "The battle's over. You lost."_

"_Really?" the blood elf sneered. "And who won?"_

_Shahra remained silent. She couldn't think of an answer._

_After all, she hadn't expected to meet Eldin Sunstrider..._

* * *

Shahra felt ill.

Not a proverbial illness stemming from the fact that Leo was seated in front of her. Not a mysterious illness that stemmed from coughing up blood and passing out. Rather an illness that could be described as "air sickness," courtesy of flying through the air on a gryphon along an air stream that had had to be the most particle-ridden body of air she'd ever encountered.

_And I thought the worst was over..._

"Falling asleep while riding on a gryphon? Now _that's_ impressive."

_Yep. It's worse._

Looking ahead at the one who was 'impressed,' Shahra knew that it should have been a small consolation that Leo sounded as bad as she felt and turning back to glance at her, looked that way as well. It wasn't however. It was only possible to take genuine satisfaction from other people's misery when you were situated above them rather than in the same boat. A boat that could plummet out of the sky at any moment, given the gryphon's raspy breath, but a boat that was carrying both of them to Hellfire Peninsula and as such, leaving them stuck together.

"I was asleep?" the high elf asked the human.

Leo shrugged, turning his gaze back to match his mount. "I guess so. Mumbling and all that stuff...I had more important things to concentrate on."

The quel'dorei didn't feel insulted. It probably _was _an insult, but if so, she was beyond caring. Yes, she had dreamed, as she'd been doing on a fairly regular basis ever since leaving Tempest Keep, but it wasn't as if the memories surfacing in her mind were any better than reality. Odd really, that anything before the fall of Quel'Thalas refused to surface. But at this point in time, she couldn't care about the world of dreams any more than the world of reality?

_Is that right though? Should I just dismiss things out of hand? Accept facts without questioning them? At this rate I might become a-..._

The train of thought stopped for a moment. Vomiting over the edge of the gryphon came first.

"You're not used to Outland are you?" came a voice, one that didn't belong to the neanderthal in front of her. Shahra shook her head, not bothering to glance at Ardelan, who'd brought his gryphon up by theirs. She didn't trust herself to speak anyway.

"Didn't think so," said the draenei. "I would know."

"How?" Shahra murmured. "The Dark Portal's been open for less than a year. How could-..."

"So Ardelan, how much longer until we arrive?" Leo asked.

Despite bombarding the remains of Draenor with another barrage of bile, the high elf managed to listen to the pair's conversation. Nothing particularly interesting, apart from the welcome piece of information that they were nearing the end of their trek over the Mountains of Flame and that the draenei was the only one who wasn't feeling ill. Yet still she listened. Leo had cut her off earlier and somehow she suspected there was a reason.

_But what kind of reason? Protection? Pratism?_

Despite the fact that her throat felt like it was on fire, Shahra smiled. She doubted that "pratism" was a word, even in Common, but at least there was something for her to ask questions about. And even unleashing a third barrage of bile down onto Outland, she continued to ask questions. Why wasn't the draenei sick? How was Outland familiar to him? Why was Leo putting up with a sickly passenger? What was that thing coming up towards them from below? How much further till they reached Hellfire Peninsula? How long until-...

_Wait, what?_

Shahra had never thought she'd be glad to be ill. But with air sickness having prompted her to look down, fate had, for once, been kind to her. Because with Leo and Ardelan yammering on about Light knew what, she was the only one who spotted the thing heading towards them from below. A flying, amphibious thing. A thing that was heading right for the gryphon she was riding on...

It would have hit it too, had she not leaned forward and grabbed the reins from the human in front of her, taking the gryphon away from Ardelan's.

"Shahra!?" Leo exclaimed. "What in the name of the Light are you-..."

_Schreeee!_

It was Leo's turn to be cut off this time. Large flying amphibians shooting up between a pair of gryphons tended to have that effect.

"That's what I'm doing," murmured the high elf, handing the reigns back to her companion with one hand while pointing at the...thing with another. "Saving our lives."

Leo remained silent and the elf couldn't blame him. Because not only was he in the debt of someone whom he refused to trust (again, though the quel'dorei doubted that either of them were really keeping count) but that the creature staring down at its pray with baleful eyes tended to demand silence.

"Couatl..." Leo murmured. "The naga must be getting frisky."

"Naga?" asked Shahra. "What's a naga?"

Leo remained silent. Maybe it was that it wasn't the time for questions. Maybe he just wanted to be a jerk. Or maybe it was part of the same reason that he gave the elf a queer look, as if to say "what's a naga? What rock have you been hiding under?" Regardless, Shahra didn't get to find out. With the human taking the gryphon into a sharp dive downwards, questions had to take a back seat to holding on for dear life.

Besides, she didn't trust herself to open her mouth anyway.

"Damn snakes," Leo grunted as the avian increased velocity. "If they're not killing on land, they send their pets to kill us in the air..."

That certainly seemed to be the case, the...things diving down after them. And while Ardelan seemed to have taken a similar course of action as his human friend, most of the flying reptiles seemed to be after the gryphon the high elf was on.

"L...Leo..." Shahra stammered, trying to keep her eyes open despite how close the ground was becoming. "We...we're going down a bit-..."

"Schree!"

In an instant, a couatl shot up at them. In another instant, it fell back down. With Leo having swung his sword, the cause was obvious.

"Hang on," said the human, bringing the gryphon to a more horizontal trajectory. "I'm performing a few manoeuvres."

"Old manoeuvres?" asked Shahra hopefully.

"No..." Leo glanced back at his passenger. "I've never tried this before, so if your broken body ends up on one of these mountains, try not to be too angry."

And with that, the gryphon shot forward.

Something was screeching, Shahra knew that much. Whether it was the gryphon or couatl she didn't know, as with her eyes shut tight, she couldn't identify the sound. Having kept them open for a few minutes beforehand, she could appreciate the sense of Leo's plan. Flying below the tips of the mountains forced the couatl to follow them in the same way. She was willing to guess that the winged reptiles were faster, given that both gryphons had passengers on board, two of which were wearing armour, but the reptiles still had to fly at a similar speed in order not to crash. And below the orographic wind of Outland, the air here was pleasantly particle free.

_Guess he knows what he's doing, _thought the elf grudgingly as her stomach heaved in accordance with a sharp turn. _Guess this is working after all._

"Leo, this isn't working."

_Or not._

Opening her eyes briefly, the quel'dorei saw that the draenei had pulled his gryphon alongside Leo's. His face was grim and although she was no vetinarian, Shahra could tell his gryphon was in equally bad shape.

"I know what you mean," murmured the human. "The gryphons can't keep this up. The load's too great and they're not meant to fly at this speed."

Ardelan shot Shahra a dirty look, possibly toying with suggesting that Leo lighten his load. Unlikely, but it made the elf tighten her grip around Leo's waist all the same. Not her first choice of saviour, but still a far cry away from the eredar-esque...thing.

There was more screeching now. A screeching that the elf could tell was coming from one of the gryphons, despite her sight being denied to her. A great sense of pity filled the quel'dorei-gryphons were noble creatures, able to go toe-to-toe with the Red Dragonflight in the Second War and still come up on top. Flying away from green-scaled reptilian monstrosities was harmful to both their physical state and their sense of ego.

Ego...oh for the days when she still had that. Or pride, to be specific...

"Anyway, I've got a plan," said the draenei. "It's a long shot but argh!"

"Ardelan! No!"

"Get them off! Get them off!"

Shahra initially refused to open her eyes, but with _something _flying right over her and another thing scratching the back of her neck, she knew that now was the time to face danger right in the face. However, facing the wings of danger was another thing. And with a swarm of couatl having suddenly descended on Ardelan, blood, feathers and, oddly enough, golden light going everywhere, danger was clearly overrated.

"Hang on!" the human yelled, drawing out his sword. "I'm coming!

Shahra could have thought of a hundred different reasons why advancing on at least a dozen couatl tearing apart a gryphon limb from limb was a bad idea, but knew that Leo would be unlikely to listen. However, there was another factor that the human hadn't considered. A factor that her brief period of eyesight had allowed her to consider.

"Leo, below us! There's some kind of fortress!"

"Shut up donkey ears, I'm busy!"

Or rather his gryphon was. Because what remained of Ardelan's mount was plummeting towards the lower wall of the fort and the couatl were following. And as fast as Leo shot after them, he didn't have a chance of catching up.

"Leo, let it go!" Shahra exclaimed, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We can't reach him..."

"Shut up! He'll make it, but only if we-..."

"Squawk!"

Shahra's stomach jolted with the gryphon...again. Not out of illness or motion however. Rather, it was out of fear. Because "squawk!" was never a good sound to make. In fact, with Leo's gryphon now plummeting in an uncontrolled manner, it was probably the worst sound possible.

"Leo..." the elf murmured, butterflies rising in her chest as vertigo caught up with her. "What's happening!?"

"Poison..." the human murmured, sounding unusually calm for someone who was likely about to go the same way as his mount. "A couatl's poisonous barb. Right in the neck."

Leo was leaning forward on the gryphon and therefore in a position to see how dire their predicament was. And while less aware of the situation, Shahra was under no delusions as to how grim it was. Rock below them, couatl above them and...well, that was it. But that was enough to remove her fear and replace it with terror.

_Oh Belore _(the sun)_ have mercy, _she thought, waiting for the inevitable to come.

She didn't have to wait long. And in one sound it was over. An impact with the sound of-...

* * *

"_THUMP!"_

_Cursing rapidly in Thalassian, the high elf ranger nursed her now-red knuckles. That's what came from punching a tree, especially ones in the Plaguelands. Rotten and decaying, but still enough to-..._

"_Thump!"_

_...break your knuckles._

_Not that that had occurred, given the elf had kicked the tree this time. What _had _occurred however, was the sound of the most profane language ever heard in Finall's rangers as a golden haired elf hopped around before promptly falling backwards onto the dead grass._

_Dead grass...take out the second word of that phrase and you summed up Madril's condition perfectly._

_Incineration tended to do that to people._

_Rising to her knees and leaning back against the tree which persisted in some supernatural attempt to break every bone in her body, Shahra reflected on the irony of it all. The undead, even the Forsaken, were exceptionally resistant to damage that would have been incapacitating to one of the living. In normal circumstances, only lethal blows could down them, such as decapitation or trauma to the spinal cord. Add fire into the mix however, and you had a potent weapon. Stratholme had shown that. At least Prince Arthas had been good for that much before laying waste to his homeland and taking the high elf kingdom with it._

_And yet Madril had died. From fire. He'd been fighting the undead and _fire _of all things had killed him._

_Fighting back tears, Shahra reflected on the irony of it all. Not just the manner of death, but the fact that the "asshole," or what was left of him, hadn't even buried because there was no body left for such a thing to occur. She was aware of the saying that you never truly appreciated what you had until it was gone, but even after losing her homeland, it appeared she had failed to take that lesson to heart. Because if she had detested the man as much as she had acted, she wouldn't be in this state. Lying here, alone, while the rangers did...well, whatever they were doing._

What do you think they're doing? The Forsaken were let go. All we have left is a trio of blood-traitors!

_Blood traitors...three sin'dorei to be exact. And one of whom was responsible for Madril's death._

_And there was the truth._

_Rising to her feet, the high elf made her way to the enclosure that Finall had set up to keep the three blood elf prisoners secure. Magical wards, four rangers armed with bows within sufficient distance to use them...Presumably some kind of interrogation had occurred, but for once in her life, Shahra wasn't interested in pursuing her curiosity. No...all she wanted to do right now was hurt someone. And Eldin Sunstrider was the obvious target._

"_Oh look, another princess," sneered the blood mage, seeing the quel'dorei approach. "Another interrogation perhaps? Or do you have something else in mind?"_

"_Shut up!" the high elf exclaimed, gladder than ever as to the distance the rangers were keeping from the prisoners. "Just shut up!"_

"_Very well. I will speak only when spoken to. I am aware of the procedures of interrogation._

_Shahra snorted. She doubted that the blood elf knew anything of the sort._

_Then again, she knew very little about Eldin Sunstrider, despite being one of Anasterian's sons and the elder brother of Kael'thas. Not out of any conscious effort by the ruling dynasty (at least as far as she could tell), but while Eldin was always there, he wasn't...seen, as much. After all, Kael'thas was next in the line of succession and despite the path he had chosen for his people, Shahra had to admit that he possessed both great arcane talent and a keen mind, a combination which rumour held, had him as one of the Council of Six. The ruling council of Dalaran, sitting alongside the likes of Antonidas, Krasus and three other powerful individuals, or at least according to Finnall, who had grown up in Dalaran. And in the meantime, Eldin was left to go about his business..._

"**Do you feel sorry for him?"**

"_You're not here to interrogate me, are you?" asked the prince._

"_Really?" asked Shahra, not willing to admit that she wasn't sure _what _she was doing. "What makes you say that?"_

_The sin'dorei smiled, his visage deceptively pleasant. Physically he was like his younger brother, but less lean, less...hard, as if fate had decreed that without the burden of future rule, there was no need for him to hone any particular physical talent. Still, the high elf wasn't fooled. He had talent all right...enough to burn a man alive._

"_You hide nothing, girl," chuckled Eldin. "Not only have I already been interrogated by your leader, but you are not the type of person who radiates authority. Like the rest of your kind, you are simply here because you believe you are _meant _to be here. Lost and without a sense of purpose, you let fate take you where it wants without seizing your own destiny."_

"**Hmm...an unusually astute argument for someone cast aside for rule. What other 'truths' do you cling to that are yet to be broken?"**

"_Don't play the rhetoric game, demon addict," Shahra spat. "It means little coming from the mouth of a murder."_

"_Pardon?"_

"_Madril. My friend. You-..."_

_Eldin chuckled again, though this time for much longer. And despite wanting to utilize a method to make him stop, preferably a rather painful one, Shahra let him continue. She wanted to see what this...murderer had to say in his defence._

"_Murderer?" asked Eldin. "The one who ambushes a column of sentient undead and kills at will accuses the one who defends himself of being a murderer?"_

_The high elf snorted. "Pardon me, my _prince_, but dealing with undead is not killing."_

_Eldin's eyes narrowed and although their helms made it hard to see, so did the eyes of his accompanying spell breakers. The green light in them remained though. That would never go away..._

"_If that's what you believe, then you are still a child..." said the blood elf slowly. "Yes, the undead do not live or breathe as the living do. But does that mean they are not alive? Should one consider the possibility that to possess live figuratively allows the undead to enjoy the same respect as those who match the definition figuratively as well?"_

_Shahra remained silent._

"_I would like to think so," continued Eldin. "I, for one, believe that who an individual is defines them more than as to what they are. Still, I admit that as per our alliance with the Forsaken, such questions may be a moot point."_

"_You allied with _undead?!" _Shahra exclaimed. "How could you do such a thing?!"_

_Eldin sighed. So did the voice in her head. So alike..._

"_I preferred talking to your leader," said the blood elf eventually. "A half-breed maybe, but at least one with sense. These are dark times, quel'dorei. Azeroth is in chaos, allies are few and the Forsaken are our closest neighbours, not to mention possessing a shared interest in taking vengeance against the Lich King. Yes, we questioned the implications. Yes, we considered alternatives. But in the end, we did what he had to do."_

"_So did I," murmured Shahra. "But you don't see me with undead."_

"_No, of course not. But then again, you only did what you believed you had to do. As for the question of why you had to do it..."_

_The high elf remained silent. She wanted to shut Eldin up, but her body wouldn't let her. Madril's death was why she had come, but somehow that had been driven from your mind._

"_I hope for your people's sake that not all quel'dorei are like you," said the sin'dorei, almost sounding sad as he did so. "You claim that part of what distinguishes you from us is your love of knowledge for its own sake. But as far as I can tell, you at least have never questioned your actions. You have fought, and killed, and watched people die. In essence, you have done exactly what we did in the Third War. You have not learnt anything. And while you live in denial, you never will."_

_And with that, the conversation was over._

_Within a few hours, Eldin would be released to continue to the Undercity as per his role as a diplomat. Within a few days, Shahra would leave Finnall, looking for answers. And within a few weeks, she would be at Nethergarde. And all the while, the voice followed her._

_A search for the truth?_

_Or was it her conscience?_

* * *

"Rise and shine buttercup."

Not the most original order in the order of creation, but one that served its purpose. Watching on, Leo watched as the high elf began to stir from the impact site that his gryphon had made. Despite its ungainful and fatal landing, couatl poison aside, it had at least made an impression that was comfortable. And having slid off the flying creature in a daze and fallen into the crater, Leo had originally been tempted to lie there, even with the drawbacks of lying next to a corpse...

"Ah, I was having the most lovely dream."

...and a twat.

"Whatever," Leo murmured, letting Shahra rise to her feet unaided. He had a number of problems to deal with and was more than willing to let the blonde solve her own problems of regaining her land legs and whatever dreams she was having that made her resort to unoriginal sarcasm. And he could start off by solving the problem of where they were...

Looking around, there wasn't much to see. Above them there was nothing but a tortured red sky, below them was tortured red rock and on either side of the pair there was even _more _tortured red rock, courtesy of landing in the Mountains of Flame. Oh, and there was some castle thing on the mountain trail they were on, but Leo wanted to avoid that. Either it had been established recently and was therefore a stronghold for those out to kill them or a structure from the days when Outland used to be Draenor and therefore a relic of the past he didn't want to experience. As such-...

"Hey, look, a castle. Maybe we should check it out."

Leo sighed, following Shahra's pointed finger to the object he wanted to avoid and then following her arm back to her face. One covered in dirt, blood and perplexion.

"Donkey ears, I know this is a bit much to ask, but would you mind not making stupid suggestions?" asked the human irritably.

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Pardon me, Leo. I just thought that taking shelter in a fortress would be preferable to standing around doing nothing."

Leo's hands were tight. And not just from holding onto reigns for the last few hours.

"Shahra, use your head," he said irritably, looking back up at the sky in an attempt to gauge the time of day. "We're in Outland. A realm overrun by creatures who want to kill us, torture us or both. So when you find a fortress in the middle of nowhere, who do you think it belongs to?"

The elf's eyes flashed in what amounted to triumph. "Possibly those creatures. But there's every chance that the fort belongs to no-one Leo. It could be from Draenor's early days. Or maybe your kind is using it."

"My kind?! What are you-..."

"You and Ardelan were heading somewhere," said the elf softly. "There must be some places of refuge here Leo. I know you don't trust me with information, but that doesn't stop me from obtaining it.

Leo grimaced. Here he was, in the middle of nowhere, with no guarantee of survival, and Shahra was getting the last laugh on him. Well, that wouldn't do. True, her points were valid, but there was something that she seemingly hadn't considered.

"Good points," murmured the human. "But what about the couatl? Where do you think they came from? They're not going to fly all the way from Zangermarsh to attack us."

_I hope._

The high elf fell silent, much to Leo's relief. He wanted time to think. The first problem, the question of where they were wasn't going to be answered anytime soon, so best to focus on the next one. The question of why and how a flock of couatl had attacked them.

Unfortunately, Leo had no good answer apart from the notion that the fort was indeed occupied by Illidari, naga included. Dragonhawks could have been sent after the gryphons and surely would have done had Kael'thas known of their movements. And come to think of it, how had Kael or anyone else known of their movements? The flock of flying beasts was far too large for a regular patrol and what was the sense in using unmanned reptiles anyway? Sure you could direct them to attack your enemies, but that was really all they were good for. Killing. Killing people like Ardelan...

_No, I can't think of that. I've got to stay focussed._

Easier said than done. Because casting his gaze back to Shahra, Leo was anything _but _focussed. Nothing was adding up. She wasn't acting like a spy and if she indeed was one, would probably have realized that her masters weren't particularly concerned as to whether she lived or died. But danger seemed to hound their every move and she had indeed suggested they head for the fort. A trap, possibly.

_Or maybe I've already fallen into one._

On the other hand, Shahra wasn't acting like someone who was trying to lead him into a trap right this second. Walking down the southern path away from the fort, then running back in fear tended to give that impression.

"Shahra?!" he exclaimed as she held onto him like a frightened child. "What are you-..."

"The same thing her kind always does," hissed a voice. "Hiding."

Leo's heart missed a beat while Shahra's seemed to be doing double time. The approach of at least ten spear/trident-wielding naga tended to do that.

_Great. Now I have a _third _problem._

"L...Leo?" Shahra asked. "What are they?"

"Naga," he grunted.

"N...naga?"

Sighing, the man decided it best not to answer. He didn't know how a high elf of all people possessed no knowledge of the naga-descendents of the Highborne who remained loyal to Queen Aszhara right until the end of the War of the Ancients and descended into the Maelstrom with her, turning into the hideous beasts they were now from their former kaldorei forms. Granted, he hadn't come across this information until fairly recently, but suffice to say that the fact the naga in Outland were members of the Illidari was cause enough for concern. And now matters had been made even worse by Shahra's presence. For if high elves were on the 'good' end of the spectrum when it came to those who almost destroyed the world, the naga were certainly on the end of the 'bad.'

"Blood traitor..." hissed what Leo supposed was the leader of the group, given how he/it towered above the others. "Hiding behind lower life forms. How typical."

Shahra let out a sound like a mouse being trod on. Leo glanced back at her curiously. She might not have known what the creatures were, but one thing was for sure. She was terrified. And although Leo wasn't feeling too brave himself right now, that same sense of curiosity allowed him to overcome it. Because something was definitely out of place here. The naga hadn't come from the fort, even if it was the logical place of residence. And on the subject of enemies attacking them, where were the couatl? They'd attacked them, downing his gryphon, and then flown off? No...there had to be more to this than that.

"Lower creature?" asked Leo as he walked forward. "That's a bit harsh isn't it?"

The snake hissed at him.

"Ah. I see."

Short and to the point. Not a rarity in terms of conversation, but Leo couldn't remember orcs or ogres ever hissing at him. But then again, naga males were supposedly less intelligent than their female counterparts and having spent time with a female over the last few weeks, Leo could tell that none of the ten naga in front of him were of Shahra's gender. Maybe he could work that to his advantage.

"What do you want?" Leo asked.

"Hyperion wants the girl," hissed the creature, the direction his spear was pointing at making no distinction as to which girl he was referring to.

"And me?" the human asked.

Suddenly the head naga looked like a shark. At least it was grinning like one.

"Hyperion wants your head. Though whether it's still attached to your body is up to us."

Leo smirked. "I see. Well, the girl's all yours then ("What?!" Shahra exclaimed). But I'd like to keep my head if that pleases you."

With the naga's grin becoming even wider, it was clear that it did please him. He slithered forward...

...and stopped grinning the moment a rock hit him between the eyes.

"Run!" the human yelled, grabbing Shahra by hand and heading towards the fortress. True, it could be occupied by enemies and true, he wanted to see exactly how effective his throw had been, but time wasn't on his side. He'd been able to count on naga stupidity to goad their leader into a sense of ease and could probably count on his grunts to tend to him before entering pursuit, but nine myrmidons were almost as deadly as ten. And while snakes didn't look fast, they could move fast when they had to and Leo suspected that the Highborne descendents were no exception.

"Ash'thero sanguine!" shouted the lead naga. "Ba'anthalso-dorei!"

"What?" Leo murmured. He turned to the elf. "Shahra? You know what that means?"

"No," she said quietly.

Leo sighed. How the elf was perfectly willing to engage a sea dragon yet unwilling to stand up to malformed brethren was beyond him. Still, glancing over his shoulder, he saw those malformed brethren were catching up. Whatever the naga's words meant, he somehow doubted that "let them go" was the meaning.

_But what's the meaning of any of this? Couatl attacking us? Naga in the Mountains of Flame? Patrols on ground and air, yet a fortress seemingly abandoned?_

Spitting in both frustration and in the need to clear his mouth of the area's dust, Leo took comfort that at least one mystery held benefit to them. Approaching the mercifully lowered gates, he could at least count on nothing approaching him from within in the second part of what amounted to his escape plan.

"Alright, this is how it works," said Leo as they passed under the archway. "I push the left side, you push the right and we...Shahra?"

No answer. Just a stationary figure, eyes wide and glowing and mute in terror.

"Donkey ears? In case you haven't noticed we're not out of the woods yet. Or mountains. Whatever."

Still no answer. Not silence though. The cries of the naga prevented that from descending on them.

"Shahra I need you to...ah, son of a bitch!" the human exclaimed, pressing one palm on both of the door's gates. Fine. If the high elf wanted to die, or be captured by this Hyperion character, that was no sweat off his back. But if the naga wanted his head, they'd have to earn the right to decapitate him.

Though how they were supposed to do that with spears and tridents was a mystery...

What was another mystery to Leo was that he managed to get both doors almost closed before one of the snakes put its hands forward to stop him from sealing the entrance. Made of wood, the gates were lighter than that of some other fortresses he'd served in over time. Presumably whoever built the fortress was counting on geography to be the primary defence, the stone architecture aside.

_Yeah, but that doesn't help me when a naga is preventing me from shutting the gates._

Leo was safe for now. The gap was narrow so that while the naga was capable of snarling, hissing and possibly biting him, there wasn't enough room for any of its comrades to bring their weapons to bear. Whether the human lived or died would be down to a battle of raw strength. A battle that as the gates were slowly but surely pried open, Leo seemed to be losing. Or at least he was before the naga fell backwards with an arrow lodged in his forehead. And with the advantage suddenly in his favour, Leo used it to both seal the gate and the battle of strength with it.

"Wh...what?" the human asked, stepping back from the gate and the snarls of fury coming from the other side. "What just happened?"

Turning around and seeing the door to the fort's gatehouse open along with a certain bow-wielding high elf, he had a good idea...

* * *

_So, after two years of absence and a series of fics, including multi-chapters for _StarCraft_, I've come back to Blizzard's first mainstream universe (or second if you include _The Lost Vikings _I guess). Anyway, the fic's been fully written, so expect regular, pretty much weekly updates from here on out._


	14. Into the Fire

**Denial**

**Chapter 14: Into the Fire**

"It's done."

Two messengers had arrived this time, but Hyperion didn't feel like shooting either of them. Well, maybe he did, but not for their news. That at least was welcome. But even as he turned to face his proverbial right and left hands, the astromancer resolved not to let that become apparent.

"Indeed?" the blood elf asked. "You are sure of this?"

"Fort Elron is a small place, astromancer," grunted the red 'hand.' "News travels quickly."

Satisfied with the answer, Hyperion leant back in his throne. Yes, Fort Elron was quite small in terms of area, even if its true volume was hidden from the outside world. Regardless, it had been a simple matter to send out a patrol of naga to coincide with the couatl attack, to ensure that his prey was herded into the fortress. Prey that was alive only due to his generosity of ordering the guards at the gate to be removed, leaving said gate open before they entered the fortress. A risk, but one with everything to gain and nothing to lose.

One of his hands thought otherwise however...

"You're playing with fire here Hyperion," said the blue-robed servant. "The prince won't be pleased."

"Indeed?" asked the astromancer. "And why is that? I've eliminated one of his enemies and another two are within my grasp."

"A grasp that should have closed as soon as possible," said the servant gravely. "You think that your rule of Fort Elron is a reward? Sunstrider sent you here as _punishment_. And if he hears about you playing around with his foes, I see no reason why he won't punish you even further."

Hyperion's eyes flashed a dark green. Clearly one of his servants still had a spine. Well, technically they both did, but by the Sun, he was the ruler of Fort Elron and would be given the respect he deserved. And while fear wouldn't work for the one who was addressing him, that didn't mean the blood elf was without other means of communication.

"What would Kael punish me for?" asked Hyperion smugly. "He wants the girl alive for whatever reason and as of yet, I have not defied that demand. However, not only was he mute on the condition the prisoner was to be received in, but he also made it abundantly clear that the others were to die in a manner of my choosing. And as the draenei is already dead-..."

The servant growled. A deep throaty growl, kind of like a felhound. Certainly it evoked memories in the sin'dorei, of the dogs of war used by the Burning Legion to drain mana from users of magic before tearing them apart limb from limb.

_Well, he's a dog too. And it's about time he acted like one._

"You seem irritated," the astromancer sneered, leaning forward to face his lapdog. "Disappointed you couldn't kill the Light worshiper yourself? There's so few draenei left in this world after all and I sympathize with your desire to rip their hearts from their bodies, to make them katra zil shukil." _("Suffer and perish.")_

The lapdog stopped short, though it was hard to tell whether it was out of respect or surprise. Very few spoke Eredun, the language of the eredar of who the draenei were once part (and technically still were biologically) and even fewer lived for any great length of time. That was the price of dealing with demons. But then again, Hyperion was in the rare position of lording over demons, not to mention naga and blood elves. And much to his satisfaction, the blue-robed servant seemed to be reminded of that.

_It's good attire. But maybe the hoods weren't such a good idea. Still, I can alter that later if I want. It's my right after all._

"Understand this, my friends," declared the astromancer as he rose to his feet, pleased to see both of his lessers shudder at the use of the word "friend." "We are all in the same boat here. All three of us are of races with detritus. Those who would dishonour our memories and turn away from the path of strength. Though our methods may be different, our goals remain the same."

A bold statement, and that the red-robed servant was murmuring angrily, saying things like "shamanism", "weaklings" and "Thrall," made it clear that there might have been some divergence from those goals. But if so, what of it? They were all Illidari. Outland was theirs. And intruders had to be punished, even if they were wanted alive.

"And right now those goals are to wait. Wait for our...our thal'kituuns." _("Unseen guests.")_

Which, given the shouts in both Thalassian and Nazja outside the keep, wouldn't remain so for much longer...

* * *

There were some who said (mainly males) that holding a weapon made you feel like a man (oh, really?) and that actually using the weapon made you one. And while Shahra Dreamsinger could understand the need for such rhetoric in light of Azeroth's bloody history over the last 31 years, she would have to say that the saying had no bearing.

First of all, and much to her relief, she had not undergone a change of gender. Despite being beaten, healed, strangled, nearly killed more than once, lapsing back into unpleasant memories and coughing up blood, the high elf had remained female. Almost too much for her liking, brushing some hair from her eyes as she and an actual male crouched down by the gatehouse. When, or rather _if _she ever returned to her homeworld, having a haircut would be one of her top priorities, both front and back.

The second issue with the statement was that despite being armed with a dead guard's shortsword, a bow and a hookshot, along with having used the bow and hunting spears that were no longer in her possession, Shahra didn't feel any braver for it. True, she'd used one of the spears against the dragon turtle and had managed to shoot one of the...naga, things, but both of those occasions were driven by necessity. The first out of survival and the second because...well, she didn't really know herself. All she knew was that there was something inherently wrong yet horrifically familiar with the aquatic snakes and that shooting one between the eyes was just the right thing to do.

So no. The saying of manliness had no effect on the quel'dorei. Unfortunately for here, Leonard Ragoa didn't see it that way. Because with blood elves and naga manning the walls of the fort they were in, all of them armed with bows, Shahra was apparently the logical choice for dealing with the issue.

"Well, what are you waiting for?!" the human bellowed as arrows came their way, their inability to hit their targets thanks only to the laws of geometry. "Shoot them!"

Remaining silent, Shahra peeked out from their nook by the gatehouse. Within seconds she had withdrawn back into what amounted to safety.

"Well? What's the problem?"

"Oh, I don't know _Leonard_," said the high elf sarcastically. "Maybe I'm a bit reluctant to expose myself to expose myself to enemy fire."

"You were perfectly willing to shoot the naga."

Shahra faced the stone of the courtyard, the light in her eyes dimmer than usual. "That...that was different."

Leo remained silent, though the quel'dorei couldn't give a damn. What would he know? How would he feel to come face-to-face with a monster like that? A monster that she was apparently supposed to know about yet had never heard of.

But something else was different and the high elf knew it. Her dreams, her memories...she'd been perfectly willing to open fire at undead, to fight in battle and talk down blood elf princes, however ineffectively. But now, here she was, unable to shoot at anything beyond a snake with its head stuck in the door. And this wasn't the first time she'd reflected on her sudden decline in ability either. It was as if...as if...

"Be'lemer an-delei! Bal, lamer zita!"

Shahra didn't know what those words meant, but the raspy sound of them didn't leave it in doubt as to what their source was. Peeking out despite the hail of arrows, she found _where_ the source was also-a naga flanked by a pair of spellbreakers. A naga that appeared to be female, assuming that four arms, shallow yellow eyes and a horrible mish-mash of antromorphic and amphibian features was the norm for their race.

Oh, and casting yellow things as well.

Leo exclaimed something that Shahra couldn't make out. Being pushed downwards had that effect and the "squelch" sound that followed didn't help matters.

"Leo?! What in the-..."

"Parasite," murmured the human, washing a yellow slime from his sword. "Sirens like casting them at their foes."

Shahra supposed the "siren" the man was referring to was the creature bearing right down on them, given safe passage in that the barrage of arrows had let up. A comforting thought if two spears and two double-bladed swords, possessed by the sirens and spell breakers respectively.

_Or maybe not._

Desperate times called for desperate measures. And if that meant slinging her bow and pulling out the hookshot, firing it at one of the spellbreakers and yanking his shield from his arms, so be it.

"Shahra?! What in the name of the Light are you-..."

"Here!" the elf yelled, tossing Leo the shield with one hand while using her hookshot to grab the other from the spell breaker's perplexed counterpart. "Use it!"

As the siren bore down on him, screaming (or singing, it was hard to tell), it was clear that the human didn't have much choice. But that wasn't to say he was at a disadvantage. Female naga such as sirens were more intelligent than their male counterparts, but lacked their strength, relying on a combination of magic and agility to best their foes. So with Leo stepping back into the doorway as the siren cast her spears forward, the blades meeting his shield, she couldn't use agility to her advantage. And with Leo slamming the shield across her cheek, stunning her long enough to thrust his blade through her chest, she'd never get that chance.

_How tragic, _though Shahra to herself, not meaning any of it as she fired an arrow at one of the now shield-less spellbreakers.

Despite their armour the spell breakers were still agile, at least if the one sidestepping her shot was anything to go by. Perhaps it wasn't that surprising. They were still elves after all, regardless of their fondness for fel magic. But elves were fast also, their speed complementing their agility. So fast, in fact, that the other spell breaker kept running ahead of him. And by the time he realized that his comrade had stopped his advance in order to dodge a projectile, a certain human had already brought his blade to bear against his. And situated in the alcove of the guardhouse, a double-bladed sword was more than a hindrance. It was a death sentence. And so focussed on avenging his fellow spell breaker, the one who had dodged the first arrow Shahra sent his way failed to dodge the second.

"Nice," said Leo, nodding in approval at the corpse while picking up the shield of his own kill and passing it to the only living elf in close proximity. "Here, take this."

Shahra obliged. Not out of a desire to obey orders, not because possessing a shield would be the only thing that would allow her to run through the courtyard without being turned into a porcupine, but rather because her body was on auto-pilot. A necessity, given that her mind was elsewhere.

_I...I did it. I killed an enemy._

It wasn't with a sense of accomplishment that she reflected on this. Yes, she'd killed before. Undead, the dragon turtle, the naga...but despite the hatred and disgust felt between quel'dorei and sin'dorei, she'd never actually killed one of those she despised. And even with her victim's face mercifully facing the stone floor, she couldn't turn her gaze away from him. Oh sure, she'd been perfectly willing to do the deed, but the repercussions were another story.

_Is this murder? Does killing another elf count as killing one of your own kind?_

She didn't know. Despite having no love for those who turned their back on everything the descendents of the Highborne once stood for, she couldn't imagine hatred alone being justification, self-defence aside. But then again, she'd been perfectly willing to kill before? Why didn't she have an aftershock then? Had she missed the bigger picture, that other beings were worthy of the same consideration when it came to life and death?

She didn't know. And that she had killed both naga and blood elf in self defence was all that allowed her to take the spell breaker's shield, place it over her head and run after Leo, arrows pattering away on top as the archers found the small area to ensure that their shots were more vertical than horizontal. Running, running, running...

...Always running.

* * *

If Leonard Ragoa had ever jumped out of the frying pan into the fire, now was the time.

He wasn't sure how the saying originated, as while being in a frying pan or fire would be equally painful, there wasn't any sapient species he was aware of that could fit in a frying pan in the first place. Well, maybe a gnome or goblin could. But in the end, it didn't matter. He and Shahra had fled from naga, entered a fortress with its gates open and unguarded, only to find that the fortress was swarming with Illidari intent on killing them and had almost succeeded.

_I swear, if I survive this, I'm going to the Royal Library of Stormwind, _the man thought bitterly as he barred the wooden door to one of the fort's towers, hoping that the "fire" part of the saying would remain figurative. _This is going to make one hell of a story._

Or some higher sadistic deity was writing the story right now. Right now, Leo was willing to believe anything.

"You alright Shahra?" he asked the elf, currently leaning against the dull grey stone wall, exactly like the pavement in the courtyard.

The elf grunted, eyes fixed at more grey. Even greyer than her tunic somehow. Whoever designed this place hadn't gone for much aesthetic quality.

_Then again, who said this had to make sense?_

Adjusting the straps of his armour and sheathing his sword, Leo somehow doubted that it would anytime soon. He'd had to deal with insanity ever since leaving Tempest Keep but at least he was able to handle that. Even the dragon turtle emerging from the ground at his rendezvous point. But with couatl attacking then flying off, naga attacking them outside the fortress yet being allowed inside it, Illidari attacking them in the courtyard but no-one within the tower they were in...None of this added up. Well, stupidity might have, but the Illidari hadn't toppled Magtheridon and taken his place in ruling Outland through stupidity, the gullibility of the Broken aside. Good thing that not all draenei could be fooled as easily.

Draenei...Ardelan...

Sighing, Leo rubbed his forehead, his sweat reflecting the lights of the torches of the bottom level, the smell of burning wood intoxicating. His ally, his friend...torn apart within sight of him. It wasn't the first death of a friend he'd seen and nor would it be the last. But as per his social hierarchy, Ardelan had been one of only two close friends of the non-human kind (not that that amounted for much, most friends of that kind having died over the years) who he trusted implicitly and had the right to call him Leonard. And now, here he was, likely about to die.

"We're going to die, aren't we?"

Leo grimaced. Apparently Shahra agreed with him.

"We're not going to die," the human lied, kneeling down in front of his...comrade. "We're...hey! Shahra, look at me!"

In the end, she did. And while Leo immediately suspected that something else was on her mind rather than the issue of their likely imminent demise, her question of "what makes you think so?" made him put any such question of finding out what on the backburner.

"It's simple," said the human, rising to his feet. "We've escaped Tempest Keep, faced a dragon turtle, survived a flock of couatl and-..."

"Walked right into my hands."

"What?" asked the elf indignantly "Walked into your _hands_? Are you-..."

"Eyes up, you two. Chop chop."

Leo's eyes were already upwards. He'd the one who'd been interrupted after all. And it didn't take a genius to work out the source.

"It's so tragic really..." continued the figure on the balcony overlooking the room, or rather one of three figures, two of which were flanking the one yammering on. "All those things you did...and yet here you are."

Leo remained silent. The two flanking figures, one with robes of blue and one with robes of red were of little concern to him, despite their hulking forms. The black-robed figure in the centre obviously held them at his beck and call. So if he didn't want those two to descend on him in a manner that was sure to be messy, it was probably best to concentrate on the one who was capable of speech.

Clearly Shahra had the same idea.

"Who...who are you?" she asked hesitantly.

The blood elf switched his gaze to his high elf counterpart instantly, reminding Leo of a bird having just spotted its prey. Like a falcon or a raven...certainly the sin'dorei's dark robes and equally dark hair gave that impression, regardless of how short it was.

_Goblin barbers perhaps?_

"Who am I?" asked the blood elf. "I am High Astromancer Hyperion, ruler of Fort Elron and-..."

"And let me guess, you're the same Hyperion who sent the naga after us," interrupted Leo.

Somehow the Illidari became even more bird-like.

"Loose lips sink ships..." he murmured. "Well, I guess they would if we _were_ on a ship and those snakes actually had proper lips. But in the end, it doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Because in contrast to your kind's usual stupidity, _human_, you are half right."

"What?" Leo scratched his head...then stopped. There were certain theories by crazy evolutionists that humans were descended from apes rather than the usual dwarf offshoot theory. He didn't want to give Hyperion more fuel for his figurative fire.

Fire that could get literal quite quickly...

"You said earlier that you weren't going to die," continued Hyperion smugly. "I'm afraid that's only half true. The girl is wanted alive by Prince Sunstrider. You, on the other hand, are worthless to us. So while one of you will live, the other will die. All that is left to you is the manner of your passing."

Leo wasn't fazed. It was obvious that this Hyperion character was what amounted to a villain who was certain everything was in control, even in times when it wasn't. Shahra however, was more impressionable...

"Kael'thas?" she asked, stepping forward. "What does he want with me?"

_Yeah, I was wondering the same thing._

Hyperion shrugged. "I don't know, little girl, and frankly I don't care. But I _am _willing to go out on a limb and suggest that you give yourself up now. You're all alone out here."

"I'm not alone," she said, resolve in her voice that Leo hadn't expected. "I have a...buddy with me."

Leo suppressed the urge to groan. Buddy, friend...ugh. Things were so complicated. Even if Hyperion didn't think so.

"What, that lout you have following you?" the astromancer laughed. "Wake up to the world, traitor. I know that your kind cling to old falsehoods and the only way for you to propagate is to open up to your masters and their one-eyed snakes..."

Leo shuddered. He could have done without that imagery.

"But in the end, you're nothing to them. Sooner or later, you'll be cast aside, just like we blood elves were back in Dalaran. We're tools to them, nothing more. And the only way to reclaim your birthright is to side with your own brethren on your own terms." He paused for breath. Or effect.

"Now then," continued the sin'dorei smugly. "What are you going to do? Reside in your death bed in the hopes that your _buddy _will stay in it long enough to...well, whatever thugs do? Or will you come with me?"

Shahra didn't answer and truth be told, Leo couldn't blame her. He'd heard her go on and on about the differences between sin'dorei and quel'dorei and paid little heed to it. Ever since..._it _happened, he'd considered there to be practically no difference at all, that there was essentially one race composed of individuals, some of whom were like Hyperion. But if this was what amounted to a usual debate, then maybe he hadn't given her credit.

_We've got to survive, _he told himself. _She deserves to see the other side, even if she is still a high elf._

"I can see that you have yet to break away from infinitude and live in the moment," said Hyperion eventually. "Very well. I'm willing to play cat and mouse until you leave the trap and go for the cheese." He signalled to both his bodyguards with a flick of his fingers, both of them turning their backs to the human and elf below. "Al diel shala _(Safe travels)_, my guests."

And with that he disappeared, courtesy of a teleportation spell, causing Leo to wrinkle his nose. It wasn't unheard of for arcane magic to leave a residue and in a room with no ventilation, there was nowhere for the smell to go.

_Yeah, well, why don't you open the door then? I'm sure the things on the other side will be happy to let you get some fresh air before killing you. Provided that Hyperion doesn't do it-..._

"You should go."

Leo blinked. Was he hearing things or-...

"You should go, Leo," repeated Shahra, tightening her belt. "He doesn't want you."

In normal circumstances, the human might have marvelled at the very notion of the girl giving him orders. But these were no longer normal circumstances. Trapped in this Fort Elron with its ruler being the type of person who'd begin a mouse hunt with "one, two, ninety-nine, one-hundred, ready or not, here I come" things were about as un-normal as they could be.

"Here," said the elf, holding out the hookshot she had taken from the guard's room. "Use the first chance you get. Get out of the fortress and-..."

Leo slapped her.

"Shahra, are you blind?!" he exclaimed. "Do you honestly think Hyperion is going to keep his word?!"

"No," answered the elf, ignoring the assault. "But I don't want you to-..."

"I'm not talking about me, donkey ears. I'm talking about you."

Leo smiled at the quel'dorei's shock. That shut her up.

"Suppose I followed your order, something which I admit I'm not accustomed to doing," said the human. "Suppose I _did _escape. What then? Live the rest of my life knowing that one of my friends died because I was too slow to help him and another one died because I was a coward?"

"He doesn't want to kill me, Leo."

Leo chuckled. "Oh, I think he does, even if his master won't allow it. But what about what you want Shahra? You, who have held on to what you are for as long as I've known you and presumably before that, giving it all up on the word of a servant with delusions of grandeur."

Shahra seemed to be getting desperate now. It was admirable really, how she was willing to just give up so he could live. But his plan was better, and like it or not, he was still leading this journey.

"Leo..." she said softly. "You don't understand. I-..."

"No, I don't," he admitted. "I'm not an elf, or a dwarf, or an orc, or any other being with the burden of a species divided into races. I'm a human being Shahra. A short lived, short-sighted human whose only inter-species conflict has been with bandits and the usual disputes between the Seven Kingdoms. But I know enough that being what you are is important to you. Hell, I even respect that now, after seeing that exchange there. I'm not of your world or culture, but I know that if you give yourself up now to Hyperion and his master, even if they let you live long enough to appreciate what you've done, you won't be able to live with yourself anyway. _Choose _what you want to be, rather than have it forced on you."

It was comical really, with the elf staring at him with her mouth open. Then again, Leo was the source of the comedy here, so that wasn't a good thing. Speeches weren't his forte, as most who obeyed his command did so without the need for ideological lectures.

Then again, with the elf hugging him, thanking him and apologising to him profusely, maybe he wasn't so bad it after all.


	15. Pride Comes Before a Wall

**Denial**

**Chapter 15: Pride Comes Before a Wall**

"So, astromancer. How is your brilliant plan progressing?"

"Well enough that I don't require your assistance."

"Really? Then why haven't we got a prisoner and corpse on our hands yet?"

Sighing, Hyperion turned away from his orb of vision, trading the black mist of sight-seeing magic to that of the dark blue robes of his servant, albiet one who didn't act like it. And with events not out of his hands, the astromancer had no compunction against cutting off one of them.

_Or burning it._

"You sound impatient, my subordinate," said the blood elf slowly. "I would have thought that you of all people would know the meaning of patience."

"I do. However, I _also _know the meaning of what you mortals call chain of command."

Shaking his head, Hyperion returned his gaze to the orb, shifting its angle to follow the movements of his...guests. While they moved with caution, using the numerous branches of the tower's corridors to evade roaming naga and/or sin'dorei guards as they made their way up (apparently in an effort to get a feel for their surroundings and finding a way down), there was no hiding from the in-built sentry wards embedded in the roof.

"Chain of command is overrated," said the astromancer, grinning as he watched the traitor and primitive argue over which way to go. "Out here in the middle of nowhere, Fort Elron and what's inside it is all that matters."

"Indeed?" asked the servant. "Then how did you come to rule it then? Have delusions of grandeur all you want but not even an individual as _mighty _as yourself can evade reality, not to mention that-..."

Hyperion's literal hand sprung to action to deal with his figurative one. Or rather a fireball in it did. Either way, he hoped it would suffice to shut his servant up. A false hope as it was.

"Fire? You think that I'm afraid of _fire_?" the thing asked, striding towards his superior. "You'll have to better than that Hyperion."

The fireball became larger.

"Not good enough. I've seen entire _worlds _set aflame, their ashes cast into the Great Dark. If you want-..."

"What I _want_, man'ari, is to be allowed to concentrate!" exclaimed the blood elf, turning his gaze away from the orb and shutting it down. "But since you seem hell-bent on ensuring that won't happen, I suppose all I can do is hear you out."

At first there was a silence. A silence only broken by the crackle of torches and the smell of burning oil. But slowly but surely, the silence faded, replaced by the throaty laughter of a demon.

_Oh would he shut up? _Hyperion wondered, not liking the feeling of his hair pricking up and a chill that didn't stem from low temperature.

"There may be hope for you yet astromancer," the eredar said eventually, his tail moving slowly under his robes in a manner reminiscent of a cat with its eyes on prey. "Or maybe not. Regardless, I feel that you are on the edge of a knife here. And should you fall, there is a strong chance you may take some others with you."

Now it was Hyperion's turn to laugh.

"What, the anach kyrees _("miserable insects") _running around in my fortress? You're afraid of them, yet not-..."

"No, I am not afraid of them," interrupted the eredar. "That is to say, I do not fear them _directly_. However, I can only trust in Prince Sunstrider's judgment, that he has a reason for wanting the high elf."

"_Traitor_, you demon," snarled Hyperion. "A traitor like any quel'dorei or Scryer. A traitor who-..."

"My species chased traitors through the Great Dark for twenty-five thousand years before watching the orcs carry out our justice for us. Don't assume I know nothing of treachery."

Hyperion opened his mouth, moved it a little, then shut it. He hadn't really assumed such a thing per se, but so focussed on the rats moving through his nest, he had forgotten all about the history of the eredar and their draenei offshoot. And considering that his subordinate had missed exacting his vengeance on one of the Light-worshiping natives of Argus...well, that would make anyone a mite angry, demons notwithstanding.

"But even now, my wayward brothers continue to defy the inevitable," continued Hyperion's left hand. "Even now, they can form a front of resistance to the Illidari's domination of Outland. So while you continue to underestimate your foes, Hyperion, you continually run the risk of the _traitor _becoming something more."

Hyperion grimaced. His servant had a point. But he wasn't willing to concede that. Not yet at least.

"Tell me something," said the astromancer eventually. "Why are you so concerned about the welfare of the girl? Your traitor is already dead and considering that she is a descendent of those who brought the Burning Legion into Azeroth in the first place, I can't imagine any particular grudge you might possess."

The eredar chuckled. "Oh, this is rich. Even now, you retain some Highbourne curiosity, not to mention some quel'dorei-..."  
"Feel free to use the first analogy, demon. You're not free to use the second."

"But then again, curiosity can be a boon. It led both the eredar and Highbourne to the power of the Burning Legion, even if your ancestors failed to seize it."

Hyperion decided not to react to that comment. Royal blood flowed in his veins like all those who followed Dath'Ramar seven millennia ago and he didn't feel like having that fact mocked. On the other hand, he was under no delusions as to how likely it was that Sargeras would have rewarded those who brought him into the world, had they succeeded.

_Or the kaldorei simply screwed things up. I wouldn't be surprised._

"I admit though, having looked down on our enemies, there was a certain...familiarity, about the girl," continued the eredar. "Nothing much and indeed, with so many mortals willing to give themselves over to the will of gods, perhaps not that surprising. However, if that were the case, I don't think we'd be going to all this trouble to capture her."

"Trouble?" asked Hyperion incredulously. "What trouble? We haven't-..."

"You do not know why Kael has given the orders he has, correct?" said the eredar, making it clear that such words encompassed a statement rather than a question. "You are in unknown waters and yet you swim around as if you were safe in the shallows."

"And you wouldn't, in my position?"

The demon shrugged. "After hearing of Archimonde's defeat at the hands of petty kaldorei spirits, I've learnt that pride comes before a fall. Whether you learn that before anything...unexpected happens, astromancer, is up to you."

And with that he left.

Hyperion stood there, flabbergasted. After all he'd done, after all the authority he'd established, the demon still treated him like he was nothing. A _demon _of all things! By the Sun, the blood elves _fed _on the essences of demons! They were below them! Next to nothing! And here he was, lord of Fort Elron apart from two rats who didn't know they were as good as dead and an eredar was treating him as if he was nothing.

_Well, we'll see about that. Walk away from your master man'ari, I'm still lord of you. Pride comes before a fall after all. And on the edge of Hellfire Peninsula, it's a long way down..._

And with that, Hyperion returned to watching his prey, glad to see his right hand was in position.

The eredar's warning never re-entered his mind.

* * *

"Hey Shahra?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever feel that someone is watching you?"

Turning around from the snakes that had just attacked them, the high elf gazed in perplexion upon the human, currently cleaning his sword of yellow naga blood with a piece of torn tunic. Apparently the creatures' blood still had enough oxygen to make oxidation a relevant issue for blades...or something. She wasn't a blacksmith.

"Watching me?" the quel'dorei asked in surprise. "What do you mean by that?"

The human shrugged. "I dunno. Just got the feeling."

Shahra remained silent, glad that Leo was either ignorant of the fact that she hadn't truly answered his question or was ignoring her refusal to do so. Yes, at times she felt like someone or something was watching her. Voices in her dreams, the voice she heard in Tempest Keep, to go to Hellfire Peninsula and meet another of its kind...And even then there was the issue of deities, not to mention the "great metal hand in the sky" that some nut jobs went on about.

Despite the unwanted subject Leo had chosen, the elf smiled. As strange as things had become, she could at least take solace in the fact that there _wasn't _a great hand dictating her every move as part of the game of a higher power.

"Something's wrong..." continued Leo, walking over towards the bodies of the trio of naga warriors ("myrmidons," to be specific). "We've encountered numerous patrols in this tower, but until now, we've never had to fight them until now and that battle was chosen anyway."

Shahra remained silent. They'd spotted three warriors as they made their way through, catching them with their backs turned. Waiting for the naga to put as much distance between them as they slithered along towards the T-junction at the end of the corridor, Shahra had managed to down two with her bow, Leo striking the third from behind as it charged, courtesy of a side corridor. Not the most pleasant experience of the high elf's time in Outland, but with the creatures conveying an intense feeling of..._wrongness_, it was more easy than her other pieces of...murder? Defence? Something else?

_Well, maybe it's for the best. After all, the reason I came to Outland in the first place was to-..._

"None of this is right..." continued the human, pacing around like an inspector tracking down a criminal in Stormwind, cap and pipe aside. "We barred the doors at the bottom of the tower, but that shouldn't have kept the guards outside this long. And all the patrols we've run into have been in a position where we could evade their detection."

"And you're complaining about this?" asked Shahra.

Leo shook his head. "No, not complaining...But Hyperion made it clear he regards us as trapped and I can't shake the feeling that while he may be coordinating his forces, he's being counterproductive intentionally. As if he's _playing _with us..."

Shahra grimaced as she followed Leo over the bodies, fighting a raging gut. "Playing" wasn't the word she would have used for this kind of situation.

"Anyway, I guess there isn't much we can do about it," said the human. "If Hyperion wants to play with us, he can expect to have a few toys broken. Right donkey ears?"

...

"...Shahra? Shahra, you alright?"

The high elf didn't answer. Not out of contempt, not out of resentment, but simply because she just _couldn't_. And watching her crouched down on the ground, hands on her chest, breath hale, Leo could tell this.

"Hurts..." she whispered. "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts..."

"Shahra, are you...oh."

At first the girl didn't know what "oh" meant. A lack of vision and raw pain had derived her from her senses. Not unlike the time she passed out at Corru Point. And with the first splatter of blood hitting the stone floor, flood that was red and coagulated, déjà vu could be added to her list of symptoms.

"Oh dear," murmured the human, seemingly having larger concerns than repetition of his words. "That doesn't look pretty..."

"Oh...you think?" the elf rasped before falling down on her hands and knees, subsequently coughing up more red stuff.

"Well come on Shahra, there's got to be a reason for it."

"Well maybe there is!" the quel'dorei shouted, rage and hatred coursing through her. "Maybe there is a reason for my affliction you oaf! Maybe it's important! And _maybe _I could find the answer without you blundering in all the time!"

Leo stepped back in surprise. Not hurt, not in shock, but certainly taken aback at the high elf's outburst.

_Well, what of it? I am above such lesser species._

"**Of course you are."**

Part of Shahra's mind was concerned at the rage flowing through her as she continued to cough up more blood and even more concerned at the raw hatred she was feeling. A hatred that despite her early history with the man from their first meeting at Tempest Keep, had no warrant for such treatment of the man who was just trying to help her. But as blood flowed out of her mouth and clouded her vision, she could do nothing to stop the flow of rage. Or at least she couldn't until as Leo stepped into the T-junction ahead of them, a wall suddenly sliding out from the adjacent wall, cutting them off.

"No!" the elf yelled, rising to her feet...then falling back down again. While not losing consciousness like a Corru Point and the pain somewhat more bearable, her body still refused to obey her desire. A desire to help her friend. A desire to find the source of the shouts coming from the other side, followed by the sound of steel meeting steel and a loud "thump."

"L...Leo?" Shahra whispered. "Leo, are you alright?"

Only silence remained. A silence not broken by sound but rather that of smell. The smell of blood from both elf and naga.

"Leo!" she yelled. "Leo, answer me! I...I...I don't know what came over me but-..."

"I do," came a voice, one which caused the elf to recoil from the wall in shock. A familiar voice, one which she hoped never to hear again...

_No...it couldn't be..._

"And I wouldn't worry about your friend. You'll be joining him soon."

Under normal circumstances, Shahra Dreamsinger would have found those words ominous. Under these circumstances however, they were terrifying.

And all the while, the blood kept flowing...

* * *

_A/N_

_The effects of leaving a fic high and dry for two years have become abundantly clear. Still, luckily I'm able to keep writing fanfiction regardless of reviews, so it's not so great an issue, not to mention that pre-written chapters will be posted from here on out. Updates will be mostly continuous, though courtesy of uni, "mostly" is the keyword in that sentence._


	16. Sewer Rats

**Denial**

**Chapter 16: Sewer Rats**

Did rats live in sewers?

Shahra Dreamsinger didn't know the answer to that question. Not only had she never been in a sewer before and while like most quel'dorei she possessed natural curiosity, delving into the mysteries of civilization's receptacle of waste had never been high on her "to discover" list. Until now, if the topic of where the yellow liquid and brown solids that came out of one's body was brought up, she assumed that they would be dealt with appropriately and that if rats _did _live in sewers, they would deal with society's excrement just fine. All folk tales had some origin after all. Certainly the raw _stench _of sewerage was on the money.

Running through the sewers of Fort Elron, she was beginning to doubt that. Or if there had been rats here, they'd been eaten by creatures even worse.

_Hiss..._

The elf kept running, managing to summon enough willpower to not stop or turn back, but not enough to involuntarily shudder. She wasn't sure whether the hissing sound was from acid or the creatures shooting it at her. After at least ten minutes of being followed by the creatures and running for the last five, it had become impossible to tell the difference between them.

_Oh this is great. Come to Outland, see the sights. Experience life on the edge at the cost of only a few gold pieces..._

"Rahh!"

Rounding a corner, Shahra came face to face with one of the...things chasing her. A long, wiry, lizard-like thing that her mind automatically considered a quadrupedal naga. Regardless, it was a thing that wanted to make clear that sarcasm wasn't welcome in this realm, even if that argument meant tearing out her throat.

Taking out her shortsword and letting the creature impale itself on it, the high elf made it clear that she'd take that argument under advisement.

There was a price to this counterargument, specifically having the creature's body fall on her, the sewerage that had been halfway up Shahra's boots to this point now extending to her whole body. Still, quickly withdrawing her blade and keeping on running, it was a price she was willing to bear. She'd suffered worse over the last few weeks. So had Leo.

_Leo..._

There was probably some universal creed about focussing on the here and now in battle. One that wasn't even whatever hedonistic bullshit her demon-addicted brethren preached. But even so, running for her life from creatures she'd never seen before, Shahra couldn't help but let her mind wander.

_Well come on Shahra, there's got to be a reason for it."_

"_Well maybe there is! Maybe there is a reason for my affliction you oaf! Maybe it's important! And maybe I could find the answer without you blundering in all the time!"_

Not doing any favours to her rate of breathing, the elf shook her head. What in the name of the Light had happened? Coughing up blood and being racked by pain wasn't something new. Unexpected, yes, but pain was hardly alien to her and the blood was a mystery that until it struck, had no real bearing on her activities. Travelling through the Netherstorm without meditation might have contributed to it, but there was no way she could have gone that long without experiencing documented side effects of magic withdrawal.

But the anger...the hatred...that was something new. True, she'd never been on particularly good terms with Leo, especially after overhearing his conversation with Ardelan at Corru Point, but there were certainly times when genuine friendship seemed to emerge. Repaying him for convincing her not to turn herself in to Hyperion by _hugging _the man seemed to be one of them.

_And how do I repay it? I lash out at him when he was trying to help me. He backed away from me, and for all I know, he could be...could be..._

The elf buried that unpleasant thought in the back of her man. That Leo could have died at the hands of the one who she hoped to never see again while recovering from verbal abuse from the one he'd aided numerous times was not the thought that would see her through these sewers. Rather it was the type of thought that made her want to crawl up and die.

_Provided these things don't do it for me, _thought the elf to herself, coming to another junction in the sewer's passageway, a creature on either side.

It had seemed like a good idea to descend into the sewers initially. Whatever rudimentary skills Shahra might have developed and/or regained in the sword and bow, none of those skills included breaking down stone walls. And with the patrols in the fort suddenly taking a pattern that ensured she was quickly discovered, the quel'dorei had decided on diving down a waste chute. There'd be fewer guards in the sewers and presumably in the passageways that led down to them directly. From there, hopefully, she could search for her...friend without being interrupted.

"Well, so much for the original plan," said the elf to herself as the two things closed in, sadly reflecting how soon she'd taken to talking to herself without the presence of another sentient being.

_Could these things be sentient?_

"Hissss!"

_Probably not. _Her hand stretching to her belt, the elf watched as the two things closed in. They didn't look hungry, but they were certainly willing to kill regardless.

"Anar'endal dracon," _("By the spirit of the dragon") _whispered Shahra, reflecting that the two creatures very much looked like dragons, at least if one took away the wings. "What are you?"

Clearly creatures that liked jumping upon their prey when they had it cornered. And also creatures who didn't like it when their prey used a hookshot at the last moment, rising to the ceiling just before they collided into each other in a tangle of tongue and scale. A tangle that continued as the two creatures bit and scratched each other, uncaring that their prey was still within reach of their acidic projectiles.

Swinging forward down into the ground behind them, Shahra intended on ensuring that reach became even more extended.

_What are these creatures even doing down here? It's not as if there's anything to feed on...right?_

Upon completing that train of thought, Shahra decided to take the locomotive out of commission. There were no bones down here, but who was to say these creatures didn't consume their prey all the way down to the marrow? And the absence of rats...who was to say they hadn't eaten them already? Then again, how anything was able to survive in Outland at all was beyond her.

_Will I survive this? _Shahra wondered as she darted to one side as another one of the creatures sprung out at her from the shadows. Can _I survive this?_

She didn't know. But she kept running. Running to the person who she swore wouldn't die because of her. The one person who she knew would do the same for her in these circumstances. The one person who she was willing to trust. And while these traits seemed mild in comparison to the old stories of heroes and heroines (or damsels. It was a man's world after all), to her, it was enough. She might be in the sewers, but would not be a kim'jael while her friend was still alive.

_Hang in there Leo. I'm coming._

* * *

"Shahra won't come for me. She's too smart for that."

Pacing around his throne room like a caged animal and feeling like one too. Hyperion allowed himself a small chuckle. Even now, with the primitive beaten, bloody, bound and closely guarded by his right hand, the prisoner was able to cite unoriginal platitudes.

"I seriously doubt that," said the astromancer, turning to face his captive. On both counts."

The human laughed at him. "Even now, you retain your arrogance. That's why my friend won't fall into whatever trap you have planned."

Hyperion let the human laugh a bit, regardless of how irritating it was. The notion of this..._thing _finding humour in his situation was beyond the pale, especially since Hyperion had been in a similar situation only five years ago like the rest of the Illidari blood elves. Trapped in the dungeons of Dalaran at the non-existent mercy of Grand Marshal Garithos, saved only at the last moment by Lady Vashj and her naga...an interesting experience to be sure, but not a particularly pleasant one.

"I think you're mistaken, _Leo_," said the astromancer eventually. "Not entirely however."

"Wow..." sneered the human. "A blood elf admitting I'm right? That's a first."

"I bet, considering your ignorance, which is not unsimilar to that of your concubine. Unlike me, however, there is no arrogance in the equation." Letting fire dance in his fingertips, the astromancer grimaced. "After all, what would the quel'dorei have to be proud of right now?"

Hyperion turned around at this point, so he didn't see his servant bat the prisoner over its head as it opened its mouth to speak. Slowly turning his grimace into a small smile, he took satisfaction that at least one of his lessers knew his place in the world. The other would have to be educated.

"We all have our place in this world, Mr. Ragoa," continued the astromancer, returning to his pacing. "A place that extends beyond Azeroth and across the Great Dark, to Outland or whatever world we choose to grace. And right now, by place is somewhat...awkward."

"Really? I imagine that summoning succubi would do that to people."

"Laugh all you want, little man," snarled the sin'dorei. "Keep in what passes for your mind that it's the girl that I want, as I explained earlier. So if you're under any delusions as to _your _place in the world, remember that it resides entirely in my hands."

Surprisingly the human didn't counter that argument. Or maybe it wasn't that surprising. After all, the brutes didn't even possess their own language, simply relying on the universal tongueof Common to get them through their short lives. Or maybe the man actually did understand his insignificance in all of this and had decided not to tempt fate.

_Fair enough. But what about the high elf's significance? I have the means to draw her in, but what then? What interest could Kael'thas possibly have?_

Hyperion didn't know. And as his left hand made it clear a few seconds later, it was clear that his other servant didn't know either.

"This is a waste of time, astromancer," said the figure in blue. "The high elf will come to us regardless of whether or not this mortal is still alive."

"Perhaps," agreed Hyperion. "But upon arrival, I think she might be more willing to listen to reason with her ally still alive."

"And if not?"

Hyperion smiled. "Then she'll find that there's more than one way into the sewers."

* * *

"If I ever set foot in a sewer again, it'll be too soon."

Sealing the manhole of the first sewer she had ever set foot in, Shahra suspected that her desire to not wade through excrement wouldn't be granted. But then again, maybe it didn't matter. She'd suspected back in the Netherstorm that she smelled like a troll and with no part of her tunic having not been touched by waste products, she now _knew _she smelled like a troll. Or worse.

_Hopefully I won't have to find out._

Again, possibly a false hope. But taking in her current position, the high elf was able to take solace in that she was already lapsing back into simply thinking rather than voicing her thoughts. And unlike her desire to stay out of green-yellow liquid, she knew there was a significant chance of following this desire through to such a stage that she could speak in dialogue rather than monologue.

_Leo..._

Repulsive stench and nearly being killed by overgrown lizards aside, Shahra could tell that her gamble had paid off. With Outland lacking any major bodies of water, the designers of the fortress had mound an ample solution to their waste, namely designing the pipes so that it simply flowed out over the northern edge of Hellfire Peninsula, right down into the Twisting Nether. And having followed the route to the area of vertical flow, only to climb up a ladder nearby, Shahra found herself on a small patch of land between the walls of the fortress and oblivion.

Shivering involuntarily at a night breeze, Shahra glanced upwards. She didn't fully understand the concept of a heat sink, but of what she _did _understand, it was very unlikely that there would be any warmth in a night breeze. With Outland lacking major bodies of water, little heat could be stored during the day to be released at night as the land cooled faster. And while not as bad as the freezing temperatures of the Netherstorm, Hellfire Peninsula was little better.

Or maybe it was worse. At least up north she had someone who could provide body heat...

Shaking away such wistful thoughts, the quel'dorei's gaze returned to ground. Hellfire Peninsula lacked the purple glow of the Nether from above, but there was still an eerie sense of staring out into the Great Dark from a piece of rock hanging in it, seeing stars through a haze of dust and the essence of Chaos. But still, night was good. Night meant she was less likely to be seen by anyone who stumbled across her next journey. And although it was a long way down, there was at least the benefit that death would be short and sudden rather than the slow and painful methods that seemed to have presented themselves at regular intervals over the last few weeks. Methods that the one who she heard through the wall could be applying to-...

_No! I can't think of that!_

Well, she could. But firing her hookshot so that the projectile latched on the top rear window of the keep, Shahra kept her mind on the notion of her bringing an end to that. And with the other boon of her plan involving her location, in that few, if any guards in or outside the keep would be keeping their eyes for an intruder in the north, she was reasonably confident that her goal was achievable.

"**Yes...you keep telling yourself that."**

Having only just fastened the iron-coated rope to her belt and begun to climb, Shahra almost fell. But while keeping her grip on both the rope and her sanity, an opening had been opened. One that part of her brain quickly exploited as she tugged at the rope, climbing upwards...

_What if this is a trap?_

Tug.

_What if I'm spotted?_

Tug.

_What if Leo is already dead?_

Tug.

_Why should that matter to me so much?_

Tug.

_Why did I send him away in the first place?_

Tug.

_Why am I coughing up blood and descending into such feelings of rage?_

Tug.

_What if I fall?_

...

_Yeah...that probably wasn't the best thought in the world._

Luckily Shahra didn't fall. Because while asking questions was perhaps natural to her, she was still able to appreciate that there was a time and a place for them. And while high elves tended to be behind walls in upcoming battle (and even then failing to hold them the second and final time Silvermoon was brought under siege), Shahra played the role of the besieger. She didn't have an army. She didn't have an intricate plan. And as sure as the sun shined, she didn't have the advantage of any kind. But then again, that had been the status quo of her kind for half a decade. She was used to it. It was only in the last few weeks that that status quo had changed.

And overcoming vertigo and continuing to climb, the elf realized that it was a welcome one.

_Shahra won't come for me. She's too smart for that._

Ten words. Ten simple words in the language of Common that Leo had uttered to a psychotic blood elf about half an hour ago. Ten words that were uttered as part of an attempt to convince himself that the high elf would manage to escape Fort Elron and a generic declaration of defiance to his captor as was traditional in fiction and the real world. And now, watching the high elf of his thoughts climb through the window of the fortresses' keep and coming face to face with captor and captors, all those hopes had sunk as low as a kobold.

_Irony is a pain sometimes._

Or rather all of the time. But still, Leo couldn't be angry. Watching his friend walk towards the throne of a certain astromancer, he couldn't help but respect her for it. In hindsight, perhaps that was why he had tolerated her presence for so long. Loyalty could be a rare commodity these days and with Ardelan's death...

_...there could be another one._

"Shahra!" Leo exclaimed. "Get out of here! You're no match for them!"

More generic words. And the red-clothed captor took it out on him by batting him over the head.

"_Thank you," _said Hyperion, rising from his throne as if to greet his quel'dorei counterpart. "Honestly, it's no wonder the Horde took so few prisoners in the First and Second War if that's the best verbal resistance you could come up with."

"Maybe," said Shahra, walking towards Hyperion. "But then again, the company's a bit worse here."

Hyperion chuckled. "Clearly high elves are capable of retaining their silver tongues." He held up the palm of his hand. "That's close enough."

Leo's heart regained its pace. Seeing Hyperion raise his hand...well, that was more or less a universal prelude to using arcane magic, he'd certainly seen enough of it. But something was still wrong. Somewhat wisely, the high elf had stopped when Hyperion had told her too, ensuring that events did not get out of hand. Yet he had ordered her to stop either side of two pillars, inadvertently ensuring that if things _did _get out of hand, she was in a prime position to ensure that she wasn't reduced to her constituent atoms in the first few seconds. A slip-up on Hyperion's part? Or something else?

_Dammit girl, just run..._

"I must say I'm impressed," declared the sin'dorei eventually. "Entering the sewers, evading the snap dragons, climbing up to the keep...I must admit, I expected you to be captured and brought up here rather than entering on your own volition."

Shahra raised an eyebrow but Leo wasn't surprised. The blood elf had told him how their every move had been observed via sentry wards, such wards apparently in the sewers as well. Certainly it explained the odour hanging around the quel'dorei.

"But in the end, it doesn't matter. You've come to me anyway, presumably to surrender yourself and-..."

"I haven't."

Leo sighed. Perhaps he'd misjudged Shahra in some respects, determination and martial prowess among them. But clearly she still possessed a detrimental amount of idiocy. And watching the astromancer laugh and gesture to his two...bodyguards on either side of him, it was clear that Hyperion realized this as well.

"You haven't?" asked the blood elf. "Then why have you come here?"

"To rescue my friend."

Once more laughter left the mouth of the sin'dorei, none of it pleasant. "No, you misunderstand me. Rescuing your..." (He glanced at Leo, a look of disgust crossing his features), "friend, is _what _you have come to do. As to the _why _however, that is something else."

Shahra looked perplexed at such comments, seemingly at a loss for words. So did the figure in red, murmuring something in a language that was familiar to Leo, though such familiarity not being welcome. The figure in blue nodded in approval however. Strange.

"Let me tell you why you are here," said Hyperion, pacing around slowly as he did so. "You are here not out of friendship, or love, or even what your kind claims to be a universal desire in regards to the search for knowledge. No. You are here because circumstance dictates you are here. And in this sense, you are not so different from those who remain true to Quel'Thalas."

Shahra snorted. "Spare me, Hyperion. I've heard this rhetoric before."

"Oh that I don't doubt, which makes me wonder why Kael'thas is insistent on bringing you into the fold. Admittedly, that is not so difficult, considering that not unlike the Illidari, events have dictated your actions. We all lost so much to the Scourge, Dreamsinger. We were all cast out from our homeland and our birthright, becoming slaves to fate. It was only _after _that those under Prince Sunstrider entered Outland that we diverged from your kind, not before. Seizing our own destinies rather than remaining as slaves."

"Oh really?!" Shahra exclaimed. "At what cost?! What are you now if not slaves to fel magic?!"

"Demons are slaves to _us_!" Hyperion shouted, his eyes flashing in anger. "Arcane magic, fel magic, the Light...what are these things if not tools to be used? Things not unlike yourself I might add."

"Pardon?"

"A tool, that's all you are," snarled Hyperion. "A being who is wanted for some utilitarian use, whose only difference from other items is the delusion of sapience and free will. You're a _slave_, girl, both to those who would give you false friendship and the curse of your birthright. You saw that for yourself, remember? When the magic caught up with you and you put the human in his place?"

Leo grimaced. He'd sooner die than compliment Hyperion (a possibility that his captor seemed intent on fulfilling, given how hard he grasped his shoulder blades), but he had to admit, the blood elf certainly knew how to hit the psychological bullseye. And he'd done it too, hints of tears forming in the high elf's eyes. Still, he couldn't blame her for it this time. Not after all he'd seen and heard.

"Well?" asked Hyperion. "What's your answer? Do you see reason? Or will you allow me to indulge my own desires instead of Sunstrider's and simply rid the world of an embarrassment?"

Shahra didn't answer at first, as if biding for time. Certainly that's what Leo would have done in her situation. Bide time, wait for an opening and then exploit it.

And that's when things went wrong.

It was hard to catch all that happened. But with Shahra drawing out her bow to fire an arrow at Hyperion and missing terribly due to the astromancer clicking his fingers, seemingly prompting the floor beneath the high elf to open up to reveal an abyss into which she plunged, it was easy to get the general gist of things.

"No!" the human yelled, attempting to rise to his feet and being struck down before he was struck down by the figure in red. He tried again regardless. "You killed her!"

"Not quite," said Hyperion airily. "Merely sent her to dwell amongst her own kind."

"What? More high elves?"

"No, cave dweller. More sewerage."

* * *

Falling, falling, falling...

Down into darkness. Down into filth. Down past the bottom rung of creation. Such was the sentence intended by High Astromancer Hyperion, lord of Fort Elron. Humiliation, servitude, a place of containment for the one his master sought. And with a pool of filth having accumulated at the bottom of the shaft, it was only fitting for one of those who clung to old falsehoods.

So it was perhaps unfitting that the high elf didn't land in the sewerage.

It was perhaps unfitting that she'd managed to fire her hookshot as she fell, latching into a wooden door halfway up the shaft.

And it was _certainly _unfitting that she fired another arrow into the throne room.

A special arrow...

* * *

"Hmm...that's odd."

"What is?"

"Well usually, when someone drops into water, however filthy, they make a splash sound."

The left hand of Hyperion murmured something that the blood elf could only assume were Eredun words that were far too distasteful for any mortal to say, bar a drunken dwarf with a battleaxe. But regardless of the meaning, it didn't matter. He had Kael's concubine imprisoned in a fitting location, ready for whatever the prince wanted with her. He'd done his part, along with having fun doing it. So much for eredar wisdom.

"Silence dog! Hold your tongue or lose it!"

Sighing, Hyperion turned to look at his other prisoner, struggling in the grasp of the one who had captured him not so long ago and delivering words even more distasteful than the ones his blue-robed servant had delivered seconds ago, if more basic. Common was like that.

_Primitive fool, _thought the blood elf with satisfaction as the human delivered a sentence that had a two-syllable insult at the beginning and a single-syllable insult at the end, both words beginning with "b". _Can't even develop their own language._

"Sinu a'manore," _("Well met")_, young man," said Hyperion, walking over to the former bait. "But this is a place of civilization I'm afraid. Such words will not be tolerated here."

"**Shut the hell up you piece of-..."**

The human stopped talking.

Not because of Hyperion. Not because of his captor. Not even out of what passed for manners in humanity. Rather, he stopped talking for the same reason that Hyperion didn't incinerate him.

An arrow.

An arrow that was fired from the shaft.

"What in the name of the Sun?" the astromancer murmured, approaching the projectile's shard. "Where did this come from? And where's its tail feather?"

A valid question. The arrow was clearly of elven design, but was mysteriously missing any tail feather of any kind. But it had certainly been attached originally, considering the tail feather that slowly floated down from above, having apparently come loose from the shaft while still in flight. A _white_ feather...

The eredar picked it up, chuckling softly. So did the human, though presumably for different reasons. Hyperion however, didn't see anything humorous in this...

"She dares..." he whispered. "A quel'dorei dares to mock _me_?! I hold her life in the palm of my hand and she dares to _mock _me?!"

"I would," said the human.

"Oh, I'm sure," Hyperion snarled. "You're both going to die in the near future after all. It's the last recourse of the-..."

"Killed?" asked the eredar. "But Kael'thas said he-..."

The feather was incinerated.

"Do you think I care what that imbecile told me to do?!" thundered Hyperion, the smell of burning feathers increasing his rage even further. "This is my fortress, demon. My rules. And both our guests here have crossed them too many times and must pay the price."

The demon was silent. So was the human. The third individual in this room however, looked eager. He knew what was coming. And casting back his hood to reveal his ugly, fanged face, he was ready to carry it out. To begin what he started in Tempest Keep.

_I guess Tartarus is good for something after all..._


	17. Six Feet Under

**Denial**

**Chapter 17: Six Feet Under**

_Trespasser..._

Fort Elron was impregnable. Fort Elron was isolated. Fort Elron was...well, suffice to say it was many things, all of which contributed to its impregnable defences. All those who entered or exited the fortress were granted permission to. Yet here was a being who had defied that. Had defied the _law_.

He wasn't much of a being. He could have been, but dented armour, his skin bleeding and pausing for breath every few minutes didn't leave a good impression. In kinder times these traits might have been a catalyst for respect and sympathy. But under the baleful sky of Outland and the iron fist of the Illidari, these traits were nothing. Outland was harsh. Outland was brutal. Only the strong survived in this ruin of a world and even then, there was no reward for it. You fought or you died. Simple as that.

Clearly the trespasser had lived for a long time. Not that there was much to go on in that assessment, but with his eyes dimmer, his face harder and his tail straighter, it was apparent that he had seen better days. But what of those days? Fleeing from one world to the next from the creatures of the Twisting Nether, leaving the races of worlds to perish while they moved on...Only on Draenor had they stood and fought, against _servants _of the Burning Legion rather than the demons themselves. And they had failed. Spectacularly.

Yet he had survived all that. Survived Draenor. And maybe, before the red world was forever sundered, that amounted to more than surviving in Outland. It had ceased to become an "Exiles Refuge." Now it was merely the haven of the damned and those on their way to damnation.

And walking forward as he always had, the trespasser vowed that he would send as many on his way as possible.

* * *

The universe was a cruel realm. Even the order brought by the titans, from the forges of the vanir and power of the aesir, could only do so much against the dark. Demons, the Old Gods, mortals themselves...there were many ways a being could perish and even if by some miracle they escaped the cold touch of steel, they were doomed to pass away regardless. Such was the pain of existence.

Azeroth was no exception to this rule and Outland had taken the concept of "survival of the fittest" to the extreme. With this universal law, it was a given that those with martial prowess stood a better chance of surviving than others and that increasing this level of prowess was a boon in most cases. So it could therefore be said without a doubt that a high elf walking through the underground passageways of Fort Elron was an oddity. Because while recent events had shown impressive skill, she didn't welcome it.

_What in the name of the Light is happening to me?_

A silent question. A question that even had it been said aloud could not have broken the shroud of silence that hung over the quel'dorei. Hyperion had intended to drop her into sewerage, but this passage was clearly not part of the fortress's waste system. Dry stone walls, illuminated only with flickering torches at regular intervals...and although lacking the creatures she had faced earlier, Shahra would have welcomed them. Anything to break the silence. Anything to break monotony. Anything to shift her thoughts of dread.

No such luck.

Could it be that some questions were not meant to be answered? If that was the case, Shahra wouldn't have complained. _Something _had happened recently. Something concerning her abilities. Abilities that she had seemingly lost ever since Tempest Keep, relying on Leo for protection, and had suddenly come rushing back upon entering the fortress. Strange, but welcome in normal circumstances. But with her abilities having gone beyond the ones she had developed with Finnall, the elf was uneasy. This was unnatural. This was against the natural order of things. It took years to develop the skills necessary to fight one's way through enemy combatants like she and Leo had, not to mention making a shot with a hookshot that was practically impossible even by the standards of her own kind.

_Something to do with the blood perhaps?_

Shahra didn't know. In a sense, that was a relief to her. A lack of knowledge removed any confirmation that her coughing up of blood and the pure rage that had flowed through her the second time was linked to her current state of being. But on the other hand, such a lack of information left the possibility open. And while the session had been painful, it had been followed by the quel'dorei striking out on her own and being quite successful while she was at it. That is, until she had been left to wander through darkness for the last half hour, sticking to the flickering light like a moth to a flame. A moth that was left to dwell in its own uneasy thoughts, if such a thing were possible.

_Wish a mage were here._

An odd request. But if polymorphs were stripped of sapience, Shahra would have been the first to sign up. Anything to escape her doubt. Anything to escape her fear. Anything to escape the strange smell...

There was a saying that in a time of darkness, let the blind man lead the way. And while not blind, Shahra could do the next best thing and rely on her other senses to find her way through the darkness. And right now, her sense of smell was going haywire, much to her gratitude. It gave her brain something else to do rather than worry.

_Smells like...smells like oil, _the high elf thought to herself, quickly realizing her assessment was spot on. Coming to a T-junction and taking a left turn, she saw a single open-topped barrel. And dipping one of her fingers into the liquid it contained and sniffing it, there was no doubt as to what it contained.

_Oil. And quite pure oil at that. Probably...wait?_

Another question had entered Shahra's mind. And while not as grave as the ones that stemmed from her actions back in the sewers and fortress proper, it was still an unsettling one...

_...how do I know what oil smells like?_

The question was not so unsettling in that she recognised the smell of something she'd never heard of. Unlike the naga which Leo had seemed familiar with, the high elf was no stranger to oil, even if she had never used it beyond whatever simple products shipped out from Stratholme before it was destroyed and its role as a distributor of the precious liquid went with it. While mainly used in alchemy, oil had promising potential in industry, especially in the creation of certain classes of ocean vessels and flying machines. Even to one with no real interest in the so-called "black god," Shahra knew these facts as common knowledge. But having never come into contact with the substance, how could she have recognised its smell?

The elf didn't know. And while one's sense of smell could often refresh certain aspects of memory, that memory had to exist in the first place. But after more than a century of life, Shahra could never remember coming in contact with the substance in her life.

_But I must have! I couldn't recognise the smell of something I've never smelt before! There must have been a time..._

But there wasn't. And come to think of it, that was another thing that bothered her. Her dreams, her memories...They were all so crystal clear, so succinct...But anything bordering normality escaped her, like a veil had been cast over her mind. Alone, in the dark, she had time to think, to remember...and fail. Not amnesia-she remembered the generalities of her uneventful life, being a dutiful citizen of Silvermoon right up until the Scourge attacked...but what about the details? The little things that made up a person as much as the significant experiences in their life? What of_ them_?

She couldn't remember. As crystal clear as her reason for coming into Outland in the first place was, her state of being in the years before such a decision was made was as dark as the corridor she was in now. As strong as she had become physically, it appeared the strength of her memory had gone in the opposite direction. As if her mind had weakened...

Weakened so much that she didn't notice Tartarus approaching from behind until he was within a few feet of her...

"So, little one. Doral ana'diel?"

Turning around to face the fel orc, the high elf that Tartarus had addressed looked surprised, for reasons that the servant of Hyperion guessed was many. Maybe it was because he had asked how she was in Thalassian. Maybe it was because he had asked such a question in the first place. Or, most likely, it was from his actual presence. Certainly it was having some kind of effect, the wastrel's confusion quickly being replaced by fear.

"Tartarus..." she whispered as she backed away. "So you've come."

The fel orc sighed. Backing away was a good strategy in this situation. Backing away down the route she had come from rather than down the other direction of the T junction wasn't. Clearly this would be over soon.

"I follow my path in life," said Tartarus simply. "Unlike you, I might add."

The girl looked confused. Clearly she had not yet realized the truth. Not the truth Kael'thas sought to demonstrate, nor the truth about the nature of her existence. Certainly the two were linked.

_A shame really. A few more minutes and the next stage of that truth would have likely been revealed._

It wasn't sorrow that Tartarus felt for his victim. He could barely remember the time when he was even capable of feeling such a thing. But as much as he saw the girl's kind as the epitome of weakness, he could still respect what this individual was capable of. But now, thanks to a spur of the moment decision from Hyperion, that potential would never be realized.

_Then again, it might be possible. To go out with a bang rather than a whimper._

The blood haze surged through him. This was no time to be quoting poetry.

"You know why I'm here," said the fel orc eventually.

"What, to bring me to your master?" the elf asked. "To beat me to a pulp again like you did to Leo?"

The fel orc chuckled, relishing in the smell of fear (or sweat, whatever). "You're on a first name basis? That's interesting. Clearly the human failed us..."

"What?"

"But no, I'm not here to beat you like in Tempest Keep," continued the fel orc. "I am simply following orders as I have always done, though now under Hyperion. And right now, those orders are to ensure that you die in as much gar'mak as possible."

The quel'dorei probably wasn't aware that "gar'mak" translated into "anguish," but she probably didn't need to anyway. Whatever curiosity her kind possessed clearly still took a back seat to self preservation...

"What about Leo?"

...and ridiculous sentiment.

It was tempting to bring things to an end there and then, to do Outland a favour and remove an idiot from its midst. Yet for all his pragmatism, for all his desire to satiate the thirst of his axe, Tartarus held back. He was in no hurry after all and having backed down the wrong path, the high elf couldn't escape. And he had to admit, he was curious. That she had made it this far meant _something_...and looking into her eyes, he saw it.

_It's there. It's only a matter of time._

"I know nothing of the human's intended fate apart from being bait to lure you in. And with that need fulfilled, I can only assume that he'll meet the same fate as the rest of the Sons of-..."

"You monster!" the girl yelled. "You only wanted me! You didn't need to-..."

"What I _need_, is of no concern to you," interrupted Tartarus, relishing in what he saw in his foe. "I simply obey. I simply _exist_. It is my lot in life. I am no different from any other fel orc, whether it be from those who remained on Draenor before its destruction or from the new ones in service to the Illidari. Now either ask me something that I can answer or meet your fate a little earlier."

The girl looked confused. Apparently an orc demanding to be asked a question was new to her. Still, perhaps admirably, her last question in this life was an intelligent one.

"Outside Tempest Keep..." said the elf eventually. "You said something."

Tartarus grunted. "I say a lot of things, donkey ears."

"You said...you said that the blood that flowed in our veins was not so different. What did you mean by that?"

The fel orc's red eyes glowed brighter. Not out of bloodlust, but rather out of delight (then again, the two went hand in hand). Clearly his assessments were spot on.

"I did," said the Illidari servant slowly. "And I spoke the truth. You and me...we're not so different."

"Liar," the high elf spat, lapsing into the usual denial that came from imminent death. "We're nothing alike!"

"Are we not? Then how do you explain your rage and hatred?"

The high elf's glare faltered. "What? What do you-...?"

Tartarus held up his hand. He wouldn't be interrupted. Not now. Not when the golden opportunity to kill a foe on both the literal and figurative level presented itself.

"I think you know what I meant by those words, Shahra. I think that deep down, you know _exactly_ what I meant when I told you about the blood within us. You can deny it all you want and that you refused the surrender to Hyperion is testament to that."

"I defied him because-..."

"In Outland, you've changed. You've gone back to what you were, but more so than that. I can see that now, without having to study you up close. At Tempest Keep, I had to strangle you and peer within you to glean what I suspected, to see what is now as clear as day to me. But now...now you are more..."

"You're insane..."

"Am I?" Tartarus leered. "Well, if I am insane, what are you? You, who goes from survivor to murderer in the space of a few minutes. You, who in one instant professes friendship to your companion and then greets him with hatred and rage. You, who _claim _to seek the truth, yet runs away from it based on the delusion of love. You are becoming something, Shahra. Something more than you were. And do you know why? Because, as I told you long ago, the blood that flows in our veins...it is not so different. In fact, for all intents and purposes, it is the same..."

The quel'dorei remained silent. Then, as if to test his words, she drew her shortsword and stuck it into the fel orc's thigh, courtesy of a simple forward thrust and differences in height. Red blood trickled out.

"_That's_, your eloquent response?" Tartarus sneered. "And here I was expecting a counter-argument."

The quel'dorei looked surprised, but seemed intent on drawing more blood, drawing out her sword for a second strike. Bringing his axe down into her shoulder and ramming her against the wall, Tartarus saved her the trouble.

"**Aghhh!"**

"I also told you something else, little girl," sneered the fel orc, ignoring the scream of his victim. "I told you that if you became a liability, that the chances of my axe dehydrating would be significantly lessened."

"Axes...don't...need...substance," the high elf rasped, already going into shock and/or suffering from blood loss.

"Clearly my blade thinks otherwise. And don't worry, quel'dorei. When you're lying in a pool of your own blood you can count on it to be pure liquid rather than the coagulated crap you've been coughing up recently."

The elf remained silent, probably wondering how Tartarus could have known of such a thing. Still, fear was probably playing a role as well, unsurprisingly. After all, vague notions such as justice, honour, even love, were nothing compared to the raw instinct present in every living creature. An instinct that meant that even to the end, they would fight to survive, even in the face of the inevitable, in the face of the unknown that was death. It was the curse of all mortals to eventually die, their last choice being the manner of their passing.

Apparently Shahra had decided this wasn't her time, considering she stabbed Tartarus in the thigh again. Grinning, the fel orc proceeded to repaint the stone wall, bringing his fist backwards for the first spot of decoration.

He was grinning much less when the elf ducked, the only decoration to the wall being a fist-sized indentation.

_What in the...?_

Tartarus possessed a sharp mind, even beyond the norms of his own kind. A mind that could appreciate that in the second he had brought his right arm back, his left arm had gone back with it, in order to allow his body to build up more momentum. And in that single second, the elf had ducked, rolled aside, and run past him back to the T-junction.

"You delay the inevitable, vermin!" the fel orc bellowed, chasing after her. "You cannot run forever! No-one can escape a fel orc!"

"It's dark down here you brute" the elf yelled. "There are many places to hide!"

"Hide all you want, little girl. Your trail of blood is all I need. It is so much like my own after all..."

Clearly the chase wouldn't last long. Tartarus knew that all elves, whether they be sin'dorei, quel'dorei or kaldorei, were generally swift but frail creatures. And as swift as Shahra was, blood loss would catch up to her soon even if her pursuer didn't. And stumbling as she ran, even tipping over a barrel of oil as she rounded the corner, the moment of death was certainly not far off.

_Patience, my blade, _Tartarus told his axe. _Soon you shall have what is due to you._

Rounding the corner, treading in the oil but not slipping on it, Tartarus prepared to deliver it. He was prepared to deal death. Whether the high elf was prepared to accept it was another matter.

One thing that he _wasn't _prepared for however, was a smiling quel'dorei with a torch in hand.

"Fel orc?" she asked. "More like _hell orc_."

That, Tartarus knew, had to be the worst pun of all time. It was so bad it was almost funny.

With the elf dropping the flame into the oil spill, the same oil spill that Tartarus had stepped in seconds before however, humour was removed from the equation entirely. That was to be expected when one's body became wreathed in flames.

"**Aghhh! It burns! Aghhh!"**

"I'd call this vindication," said a voice as the fel orc fell to the ground. "But regardless of what you say Tartarus, I'm not like you. I'm not a monster. And whatever is in my blood, I'll never let that happen."

Letting the flames consume him, Tartarus knew she was right. She would never let that happen.

Because overcoming the pain through sheer bloodlust and rising to his feet, Tartarus swore that she'd die in more pain that was imaginable before she became what he was.

Invincible.

* * *

In what felt like another life entirely, Shahra Dreamsinger remembered hearing that there was a universal reaction in all living creatures when their life was in danger. Blood flow increased, adrenalin coursed throughout their system and in an instant, the creature's mind decided whether fight or flight was the preferable course of action. And although sapient species often defied this course of action, choosing paths such as "dying with honour" or "making a tactical withdrawal," their subconscious thoughts remained the same.

In the case of a certain high elf running through the stone corridors of Fort Elron's underbelly, both levels of her consciousness were in sync. Her desire to survive was prompting her to flee from Tartarus and her conscious mind wasn't about to argue. There wasn't any honour or glory to be gained in being hacked to pieces by a beast whose sanity was in question.

"**Raghh! Your blood! My axe thirsts for it!"**

That, Shahra didn't doubt, although if one interpreted the fel orc's words literally, they might have asked why his axe didn't simply drink the trail of blood that the elf was leaving as she ran, saturating the right side of her tunic in warm, red liquid. But then again, even creatures such as Tartarus were capable of speaking figuratively, even if their flesh was covered in burns.

_Is this creature even a living being?" _the quel'dorei wondered, risking a glance backwards at her pursuer. He was no longer alight, as the oil on his body had expired. Yet despite the pockets of scarred tissue, one of them covering his left eye, the only sign that the creature was in pain was a slightly lesser rate of movement in his pursuit.

On the other hand, Shahra was no different. The pain in her shoulder, while intense at first, had become a dull throb, the pain simply a distraction rather than a hindrance. Or at least it had been. Because with her lungs on fire figuratively, the notion of drinking blood had taken on a literal meaning.

_Cold...so cold...slowing down..._

Vague thoughts, and ones that stemmed from blood loss. Less glucose, less oxygen...while the wound to her shoulder was unlikely to be a lethal blow in itself, it might well turn out to be a catalyst for death.

_There'll be a vampire here any moment now..._

"What's wrong, wretch?" Tartarus sneered, watching as his prey slowed down.

"What...do you...think?" Shahra rasped, her running having slowed to a jog and subsequently slowing to non-existent movement seconds later.

"I think you've given in to the inevitable."

The high elf didn't see any point in arguing. Falling to her knees and rasping for breath, she knew she was a sight for sore eyes. Literally, come to think of it, looking down at a pool of water in front of her.

_I need a bath..._

Clearly the water wouldn't do as the quel'dorei retched into it. Not blood, not bile, but simple saliva. Her body was trying to get rid of something, but had run out of gunk to hurl up.

"Listen to you," she heard the fel orc sneer, along with his footsteps. "You're just like a dog."

"Takes...one...to know...one..." said the elf faintly. "Hyperion...treats you...as such."

"At least I don't crawl."

Shahra didn't respond to that. Indeed, she _was _crawling down the tunnel, though not expecting to see a light at the end of it. Well, technically she could see the end, the passageway making a left turn. But that tunnel wouldn't be any different. The Light couldn't help her down here, nor could magic, or any deity that might take interest in her plight.

_Good. Maybe a deity could help Leo._

"Pathetic," Tartarus grunted, his voice crystal clear nonetheless. "A simple wound and already you're on your hands and knees."

Shahra didn't answer. She just kept crawling, or as close to crawling as she could get. It was so cold after all, and she lacked the energy to do much more.

"Well?" Tartarus asked. "Is this it? The one who caused so much trouble for us all reduced to this?"

"We all have our time..." said the quel'dorei softly. "The only difference between you and me is that you haven't reached yours yet."

Tartarus let out a roar. Maybe he knew it to be the truth, that his scars would likely never fade. Or maybe it was from the fact that the high elf had twisted his earlier words-they _were _alike, but not in the way he had pointed out before. Regardless, he kicked his victim in the stomach anyway, the momentum of the blow sending her a few feet upwards and onwards, landing on her back.

"More blood," sneered the fel orc, as the elf coughed it up. "Amazing you still have any left."

Shahra remained silent. Coughing up coagulated blood didn't leave much room for conversation. But even so, what of it? She was about to die anyway and goading Tartarus at this point would only make the process worse.

_Leo...I'm sorry..._ she thought to herself as the fel orc declared something in his own language as he raised his axe. _I'm sorry for dragging you here. I'm sorry for...for everything..._

That she was thinking of another person in her final moments surprised her.

What surprised her even more was that Tartarus' axe never reached her.

And she was especially surprised when warmth began to course through her body as her wound was healed.

And when it came to the fact that the person responsible for this was supposed to be dead...

...well, some things couldn't be expressed in words.

* * *

Ardelan was confused.

He was many other things right now of course-angry, pious, ready for battle...But then again, these were states of existence he was used to. Confusion however, was something that was not common for a race as wise and ancient as the draenei and even in times where confusion reigned, such as the first attacks made by the orcs against them when Outland was Draenor, grim acceptance quickly took hold. Perused by Kil'jaeden and the Burning Legion, confusion simply couldn't be afforded.

So when he had watched a fel orc about to deliver a killing blow to an elf (quel'dorei or sin'dorei, they were practically the same really), he'd intervened. He didn't know at first that it the elf was Shahra Dreamsinger or that the fel orc was the same one that he had watched assault her outside Tempest Keep, though quickly realized it. He didn't know what the high elf was doing down here or where Leonard was. But what he _did _know was that he wasn't going to stand by and watch an individual meet a death that only Tartarus' kind could provide.

"Preying on the weak and helpless..." said Ardelan slowly, holding his warhammer against the fel orc's axe with one hand while healing the elf with his other, the energy of the Holy Light flowing into her. "I wish I could say that's new."

The fel orc looked enraged. Ardelan supposed that was natural, considering it had been denied its latest victim and was somehow covered in burns. Well, what of it? Anger was his ally as much as any creature in thrall to man'ari.

"Leave us..." Tartarus growled as he brought his axe back into a defensive posture. "This does not concern you."

_Probably, _thought the draenei to himself._ But no need to tell him that._

"Don't presume to lecture me, orc," sneered the Vindicator. "I am no Broken or any other creature to cower under your whip. I am a servant of the Holy Light and-..."

The fel orc attacked.

Bringing his warhammer up to parry the blow and go on his own offensive, Ardelan knew that he had perhaps goaded the orc too early. With his back to the elf, he couldn't tell how effective his healing of her wound had been without risking his head in the process. Not that he cared overmuch for her state of being, but the tenants of the Light demanded that he step in along with general compassion. And besides, she was the only link he had right now as to finding out what happened to Leonard.

"Fight all you want blueskin, you only delay the inevitable!" the fel orc bellowed as he blocked a downward sweep of Ardelan's hammer, thrusting his axe forward afterwards. "If my blade will drink the blood of two foes this night, so be it!"

Ardelan grimaced as he sidestepped the beast's thrust, subsequently putting some distance between him and the orc. He'd heard this rhetoric before. And as much as the memories pained him, he had to admit that such threats were often followed up effectively.

"Is this all you can muster?!" Tartarus yelled as Ardelan gave more ground before him. "Did only the weak escape the slaughter?!"

The draenei grunted in answer, almost losing a tentacle to Tartarus' axe. The fel orc's fighting style was far wilder and less refined than his, but the Vindicator was still at a disadvantage. His warhammer's shaft was far longer than Tartarus' axe but in corridors such as these, attacks from the side would be difficult to pull off. And while he could still strike at Tartarus via more frontal means, these attacks lacked the same amount of momentum that might have been provided otherwise. As per its nature, a warhammer relied on momentum and force to do damage. Yet even if he _could _land a blow on the fel orc, Ardelan knew that it was unlikely that he could do enough damage to give him pause. By the naaru, the creature had seemingly been burnt alive and yet was still standing.

"Ugh...Ardelan...is that you?"

The draenei cursed under his breath. Clearly the high elf was beginning to regain consciousness, but not at a point to get out of the way. And if he gave much more ground to the fel orc, he'd soon be walking over her.

_There's nothing for it. I have to attack._

Taking what he hoped would be his final backward step, Ardelan let swing with his hammer. He had to hit the fel orc now...

"Lok'tar ogar!" _("Victory or death!")_

...or never.

Considering that Tartarus had darted forward as Ardelan brought his hammer around, "never" seemed to be the more likely possibility. And with the fel orc's axe cutting into his chest plate and touching his skin, that possibility seemed to be on its way to a certainty.

"Pathetic," Tartarus sneered, watching as Ardelan fell backwards. "You're just as weak as you're forefathers."

"And you..." rasped Ardelan, knowing that Tartarus had struck an area where the couatl had bit deep into him a few hours ago, "are as ugly as your mother."

Letting out a roar and bearing his fangs, Tartarus somehow even became uglier, bringing his axe upwards to deliver the killing blow...

"Bash'a no falor talah!"

...and didn't deliver it.

Once again, Ardelan was confused. Minutes ago, Shahra had been barely conscious. Yet here she was hanging onto the fel orc's back, having somehow sneaked around them both. And while impaling the creature's shoulder blades with a pitiful shortsword wasn't doing much good, it had distracted the fel orc long enough for Ardelan to regain his footing.

"Get...off me...you..._insect_!" Tartarus yelled, his rage seemingly stemming from indignation rather than pain. Grabbing the elf's sword arm and bringing her over his shoulder to the ground with a large _thump_, he proceeded to deal with her.

He would have done so if Ardelan hadn't dived into him, sending both blueskin and redskin sprawling.

Tartarus roared something at the draenei on top of him, though in the mind of said draenei, it could have just as easily been speech. What _was _clear however, was that the creature wanted to bring as much harm to his foe as possible. And right now, that involved pulling his chin tentacles.

_I'm not a pig you primitive, _thought Ardelan grimly, remembering a story that Leo once told him about three pigs and a wolf, only one of which had the sense to build his house out of solid material and even then seemed to swear on the hairs of his chin for some reason. He could only suppose it was an Azeroth thing, with races such as humans, dwarves and gnomes often growing beards. But Ardelan didn't have chin hair. He had something far more substantial. Something that when pulled, _hurt_.

Grasping the fel orc's tusk and ripping it from its mouth with a sickening _crack_, Ardelan returned the pain.

"**Raghh!" **yelled Tartarus in what the Vindicator supposed was a combination of anger and what the creature would call "gar'mak"-anguish. But then again, what would this creature know of such a thing? How could its pain possibly compare to that of the "exiled ones?"

_Evidently not much, _thought Ardelan, cursing himself for letting down his guard as the demon lover rolled back in order to send both its feet forward, sending the servant of the Light flailing backwards as well. Despite being burnt alive and now missing a tusk, not to mention the blood leaking out of its stump, the fel orc was still alive and...well, kicking.

"You...you vermin..." Tartarus snarled, rising to his feet. "You will pay dearly for this insult."

Somehow, Ardelan didn't doubt that. The fel orc might have been wounded, but had at least been in control of its own momentum while the draenei certainly hadn't. And now, thanks to that advantage, Tartarus had once again raised his axe in a manner fitting of a ceremonial execution, only with Ardelan lying on the floor instead of Shahra.

_Speaking of which..._

It didn't take the Vindicator long to work out that the _whoosh_ sound he heard was from an arrow, a deduction aided by the small rush of wind that went with it. And that a white feathered arrow had indeed embedded itself in the fel orc's right shoulder left this assessment to be beyond a doubt.

Tartarus simply laughed as a trickle of dark blood spilled from his lighter red flesh. "An arrow?" he asked. "I survived your Rangers for years on Azeroth and you think an _arrow _is going to stop me?"

Glancing back at the high elf, Ardelan could see that she didn't have an answer. She had postponed the draenei's imminent demise by a few seconds, but that amounted to nothing in the end. The elf simply didn't have the strength or weapons to take Tartarus down.

"Hyperion will be pleased," Tartarus continued, falling into what Leo would have described as the "gloating stage" that villains often came to reside in. "Two heads when he only expected one, taken from foes too weak to...to...

The fel orc paused for words. And given that blood was pouring out of his stomach from a hookshot's tip, Ardelan couldn't blame him.

"I...I..."

Ardelan rose to his feet, glancing back at the elf who was clearly as shocked as he was. The girl had certainly changed since their first meeting at Corru Point.

"You were right, _man'ari_," said Ardelan gravely, deciding that such a term could just as readily be applied to Tartarus in this case as it was usually used to describe the sons and daughters of Argus who pledged allegiance to Sargeras on that dark day nearly twenty-five millennia ago. "We don't possess the strength to stop you. But there are still tools that can do the job for us."

The fel orc remained silent, stumbling back as its body gave in to the inevitable. And yanking the tip of the hookshot out of its stomach, Ardelan took pleasure in knowing that the inevitable would come soon.

The smell of blood...it was _intoxicating_.

"This means...nothing, you mongrel," Tartarus rasped, falling to his knees. "Outland is ours. _Ours!_"

"I know," whispered Ardelan, bringing his blazing blue eyes to meet the fel orc's fiery red ones. "It _is _yours. But that can change. And before you die, I want you to know that it _will_."

For his part, Tartarus laughed, coughing up blood as he did so. "Yes...times are changing. Just as your friend behind you has changed as well."

And with that he died.

Ardelan blinked. As deaths went, and he'd dealt many of them, that was...unexpected. Usually Tartarus' kind raged against the dark right until the end. But this time...things were different.

And turning back to face the quel'dorei, he realized just how different things had become...

* * *

Shahra was confused.

Not relived from Tartarus finally being dead. Not appreciative of the fact that a tool had finished off the brute rather than a weapon. No...while she _had _been these things, the fact that Ardelan was steadily walking towards her with warhammer in hand made confusion her primary state of being.

"Ardelan?" she asked softly. "What are you-..."

"Don't talk to me," interrupted the draenei as he continued his advance, his voice laced with venom. "Don't you _dare _talk to me."

Shahra backed away accordingly, her confusion now mingling with fear. Suffice to say, this wasn't the thanks she expected for saving his life.

"Ardelan, I don't know what-..."

"Did you play us from the start?" interrupted the draenei. "Were you simply waiting to finish us off only to find Tartarus nearly beat you to it?"

Shahra remained silent. The smell of blood from three species was mingling in the air around her, making it hard to think. But this...this was insane...

"Well?! Answer me!"

Drawing her shortsword, Shahra prepared to give her answer. But with the draenei barging into her and sending her sprawling, any chance of giving it, let alone a"RSVP" went down the tubes.

"Ardelan, this is madness!"

The draenei laughed. "Madness? Look at your reflection and say that to me."

"What?"

"The water, high elf. Look in the water."

Not seeing any reason to deny the Vindicator's will, Shahra obeyed. Moving towards the puddle of water she had seen earlier, she indeed looked at her reflection...

...and recoiled in shock.

_No...no...this can't be right! This is impossible!_

"Well?" demanded the draenei. "What do you see?"

It was rhetorical question of course. He had clearly seen what Shahra was now viewing.

Viewing something that was impossible.

Viewing something that shouldn't be.

Viewing eyes that were no longer blue...

...but green.

* * *

_A/N_

_Of what I remember of this chapter, I'd probably say it was one of the hardest chapters to write for this story. I've said it before and I'll no doubt say it again, but I'm not a big fan of reading or writing fight scenes and in both cases, making them actually work in writing seems to be the exception rather than the norm. Still, I hope that I can at least take solace that my original idea of reducing Tartarus to a walking skeleton as per the burning was scrapped for good reason and that I decided to branch out from relying heavily on the confrontation between Deckard and Leon in _Blade Runner_. Still, that's just me._


	18. True Colours

**Denial**

**Chapter 18: True Colours**

Sometimes the truth was beautiful. Sometimes the truth was terrible. And sometimes it was both.

For Shahra Dreamsinger, the truth that even now she was denying fell entirely under the latter category. There was nothing "beautiful" about what she saw, its nature wondering if she'd ever see anything beautiful again, bar the afterlife of course.

"Well?" asked the draenei. "Are you done yet?"

The former high elf didn't answer. Not out of contempt or anything similar, but simply because she didn't hear him. Elf ears might have been large, but that meant nothing if the mind of the head to which they were attached was elsewhere.

"This...this isn't right..." the former quel'dorei whispered, unable to accept what was both before and in her eyes. "This isn't _possible_..."

But it _was_ possible. And although an ocular shift from a sky blue to acid green was the last thing Shahra desired, it wasn't a phenomenon that had no precedent. Indeed, counting both quel'dorei and sin'dorei as the same species, she'd fallen into the majority.

Misery might have loved company, but while the elf was feeling the former, she had no desire for the latter, doubting that whatever civility Ardelan had shown her in the past would quickly evaporate. As such, her mind worked fast.

_Why now? Why the shift _now _of all times?_

Anything occurring before her arrival in Outland wouldn't provide an explanation. She had carried out an hour's meditation at dawn for as long as she could remember (admittedly what she _could _remember had become even fainter) and had carried on the practice in Tempest Keep. Then again, the effectiveness of that meditation could have been questioned...

_What if that was it? What if lack of meditation has caught up with me?_

Continuing to stare into the horrific reflection the puddle gave her, the former high elf somehow doubted it. Meditation staved off magical addiction, but a refusal to do so shouldn't have resulted in becoming a blood elf, the key transition being feeding on an external magic source.

_But what if it happened anyway? Tempest Keep was saturated with magic and the Netherstorm was little better._

Ignoring Ardelan's murmurs about wasting time (_why doesn't he just kill me? He now has an excuse to..._), Shahra considered that scenario unlikely as well. True, magic might have diffused into her or something like that, even fel magic...But then again, the quel'dorei had maintained such a status quo for four millennia through the Sunwell and their Highborne ancestors for much longer through the Well of Eternity beforehand. External events, specifically the coming of the Scourge and Burning Legion respectively had screwed things up. Magic alone didn't corrupt, especially when stemming from a font of energy rather than being wielded with abandon.

_Alright, so I didn't satiate my addiction with an external source actively. But what other explanation is there?_

As much as she disliked it, Shahra knew there was one...

Maybe she hadn't fed on a source of magic actively. Maybe it had been forced down her throat...literally. After all, hadn't Tartarus said that they carried the same blood? While impossible to be true literally (something about species blood being incompatible and only half breeds being universal recipients), figuratively was another matter, both being infused with fel energy. And hadn't she been healed in Tempest Keep? Had she not been tended after Tartarus nearly killed her after her meeting with Kael'thas, only to find herself not only as healthy as a...well, some animal metaphor, but that the scar she'd received at Nethergarde had healed too? The Illidari had been isolated in Outland for four years-the notion of somehow mixing fel magic with healing properties didn't seem so far fetched...

"Shahra, you have until the count of ten to-..."

The former quel'dorei blocked the draenei's voice out, her mind racing. Something forced down her throat...that might explain her apparent illness in the Netherstorm, her spasms and coughing up of blood. Perhaps Kael had wanted her as one of his kind one way or another and after failing to convince her by rhetoric, had resorted to more direct measures. And as per his comments, maybe Tartarus had known this as well.

_But that means...that means..._

What this meant was that whatever was in her might make the condition permanent wasn't something she wanted to dwell on, nor was Ardelan's counting. Because as frightening as this theory was, there were still too many holes in it. Tartarus had let her go outside Tempest Keep, knowing what was inside her. But if she was a potential future ally, why run the risk of losing her? And if Hyperion knew about it as well, why all this trouble? Shahra knew she was no-one special-another sin'dorei to the ranks of the Illidari would have been useful, but someone such as her couldn't possibly justify such an excessive use of resources and letting her go into an inhospitable environment. Why hadn't Tartarus recaptured her and placed her back inside Tempest Keep until the changes took hold?

"All right, that's enough..."

And there was another problem besides the advancing draenei. Why should she believe Tartarus anyway? He was a fel orc, the worst of a race whom Shahra had little love for even when they weren't all red skinned and wielding axes intent on killing her. He'd claimed that Leo had been in cohesion after all, a claim that made no sense whatsoever. There was a chance that everything he'd said had been a lie and a strong chance at that. No...in hindsight, the notion of Kael turning her into a blood elf just didn't stack up.

_But then how..._how _did this happen? By the Light, what's happening to me?!_

Brought to her feet by an impatient draenei, it was clear that Shahra wasn't going to get any answers from the blueskin.

"Well?" demanded the Vindicator. "Are you done? Or do you want to wallow in vanity for another ten minutes?"

Shahra raised an eyebrow, not only due to what she suspected was an exaggeration of time. Here she was, apparently 'revealed' as a member of a race Ardelan despised, and he thought she was inspecting her features?

"Um..." said the now blood elf awkwardly. "Aren't you going to...well, you know?"

"What?" Ardelan asked, sounding and looking genuinely confused.

Shahra sighed, the smell of Tartarus' blood not helping matters. Oh, Corru Point was so much simpler, when Ardelan was surer of himself and the situation, not to mention that Leo had been there.

_Leo..._

"Well, aren't you going to get on with it?" Shahra asked. "True colours and all that? Blue eyes turning to green eyes, high elf to blood elf, truth and traitor revealed? Aren't you going to become all 'holier than thou' and strike me down in the name of the Light?"

Ardelan's eyes narrowed. "It is within my power, yes...but all things considered that might not be the best course of action."

"What?" asked the blood elf, wishing the draenei would get straight to the point and not dance around the subject like everyone else on this Light-forsaken piece of rock did.

"Understand my situation," said the Vindicator. "I'm faced with a member of a race whom my people bear no love towards and after the fighting on the Azuremyst Isles, I have every right to bear hatred towards you."

"Right..." said Shahra slowly, deciding not to point out that the right to bear hatred seemingly went against the teachings of the Holy Light. "Lucky me..."

"But then again, you appear to be odds with the Illidari and have fought in my corner. So while I don't particularly trust you or feel like sticking my neck out for you, I will do both regardless."

The blood elf blinked. That the draenei _wasn't _going to...well, whatever his kind did to perceived traitors was welcome, but still confusing. And overall, that her 'true colours' had been revealed didn't seem to have as much of an impact as she thought they would have. His dislike for her was from 'hate at first sight' rather than a new level of antagonism.

_But maybe that isn't surprising. He didn't distinguish between quel'dorei and sin'dorei at Corru Point, so why should he do so now?_

"Well?" asked Ardelan impatiently. "Does this work out for you?"

Shahra shrugged. "I guess. The enemy of my enemy is my friend after all."

The draenei snorted. "That saying needs a work over. _Ally _is the word I'd use."

And with that he turned his back to her, adjusting the straps on his armour.

More silence descended upon the tunnel, and none of it pleasant. While Shahra possessed no like for this eredar-esque creature, his presence was still far more welcome than that of a homicidal fel orc. And the silence invited something else-thought. Thought on what had happened to her and how it had happened, both subjects being ones she wanted to avoid.

_Why though? I thought love of knowledge was what made me..._

The sin'dorei trailed off. Love of knowledge was what made her...what? A high elf? A quel'dorei? What was that to her now that she was something else? _Someone _else? She was a "child of blood" now. Seeking knowledge for knowledge's sake was no longer part of her heritage.

Then again, she didn't feel very different. She might have become what she despised, but the feeling of being a sin'dorei wasn't nearly as horrific as she'd imagined, considering that low esteem aside, she didn't feel different at all. Perhaps the difference between high elves and blood elves was indeed purely ideological rather than physical.

Shahra shook her head. This was getting annoying. And if talking to Ardelan was the only alternative, so be it.

"What about you?" the sin'dorei asked the draenei as he turned to face her. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Ardelan raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"The last time I saw you was above Fort Elron, overwhelmed by a swarm of couatl," said the blood elf uneasily, wondering if there were better subjects she could have used rather than accusations. "How did you survive? How do I know that you're not in league with the Illidari?"

The draenei looked at her quizzically. Or at least Shahra _hoped _that was how he was looking at her. There wasn't that much light down here and who was to say that draenei didn't diverge in some aspects of visual expression from their Azerothian counterparts?

"Under normal circumstances I would have laughed at your lack of diplomacy," said Ardelan eventually. "But given that these circumstances are anything but normal..."

Shahra drowned the draenei's words out, only half listening as he explained how he conjured a "divine shield"-a physical manifestation of the Holy Light that had protected him from harm though not his gryphon. She didn't particularly care how Ardelan had survived or his theory that the tunnels they were led to somewhere that wasn't related to Fort Elron proper or its sewerage system. Right now, she didn't care about much. What was she? _Who _was she? Did a change of the former mean a change in the latter?

Given how she sprung to attention the moment the draenei mentioned a certain human, maybe not...

"Leo?" she asked suddenly, breaking her silence.

Ardelan looked annoyed at being interrupted and/or realization that Shahra hadn't been listening to him up to this point in time. "Yes, blood elf, that's what I said. We escape from Fort Elron, head south and rescue Leonard on the way. Now do you have a problem with that plan and following my lead, or do you have a better suggestion?"

Shahra shook her head. She didn't have any other suggestions and wanted to collect her own thoughts. Thoughts on whether Leo was still alive and if so, what his reaction would be to what she had become.

_Probably little different from Ardelan_'_s _thought the blood elf sadly. True, Leo didn't seem to be capable of the raw hatred Ardelan was capable of, but he certainly understood the quel'dorei/sin'dorei divide better than the draenei did. And that Shahra had either become or reverted to one of those who had imprisoned him...would he think she'd betrayed him? Certainly he had his suspicions when they first met, suspicions that only relatively recently been put to ease. And although Shahra knew that she would have never chosen to become what she now was, she still couldn't help but feel that she had indeed betrayed him, that she had let him down.

Sighing, Shahra resolved to let events take their course. Things were as they were, and could not be altered. She'd head south and...well, whatever came next.

What else mattered?

* * *

"This...this is horrible."

Ardelan remained silent, but silently agreed with his ally. True, he had seen much worse in his life, what with the Burning Legion laying waste to entire worlds and their native races, the draenei often only escaping at the last moment. Indeed, travelling for millennia aboard their dimensional ship the _Oshu'gun_, it was easy to focus only on the big picture. But that bore the risk of losing sight of smaller pictures. Pictures that could fill a wall in as much as majestic a manner as a large one.

Not that there was anything majestic about this...

"Slaves. They've got slaves here."

Looking down over the cavern, Ardelan toyed with swatting the blood elf for stating the obvious. Yes, there was slavery here, or at least something close abouts. Naga and sin'dorei guards overseeing miners as they hacked away at various veins of ore while others worked in shafts...a small picture. An obscure part of Outland hidden from the rest of the world, yet significant also.

"This might explain Elron's true purpose," Ardelan whispered, mostly talking to himself rather than his companion. "With Outland shattered, any route over the Mountains of Flame it might have guarded would have disappeared. But it seems that it still possess enough mineral wealth to be worthy of continued occupation."

Now it was Shahra's turn to remain silent, a silence that the draenei was grateful for. He needed time to think and he didn't want the former high elf interrupting him.

That there were no guards at the entrance to the tunnels from which they'd just emerged came at little surprise. Any access to them either stemmed from the shaft that the astromancer Shahra had mentioned had dumped her into or from the shaft that Ardelan had managed to jump into from his gryphon, Aeros' body falling down into the Twisting Nether. He didn't know why there was such an entrance to nothingness, but he had his suspicions-the conditions here were somewhat unappealing to say the least and it was a fair assumption that the Illidari would have to dispose of a few bodies.

_Not as if those wretches would last long..._

A racist line of thought to those under the jackboot of Illidari oppression. But Ardelan had little love for _their _kind. Besides, he had more important things to worry about, namely how they were going to sneak through unseen.

"Well?" Shahra asked. "What's our plan?"

"For you to be quiet and let me think," snapped the draenei, not appreciating such comments. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was about to do something stupid if he didn't take charge of the situation.

"Maybe we could go around the cavern. All the guards' eyes are focussed inwards."

Or not.

Ardelan silently surveyed the cavern, grudgingly admitting that the blood elf had a point. Most of the mining was concentrated in the centre of the cavern, given that was where the shafts were and even in the outer areas, the slavers' eyes would still be focussed downwards. And clearly the geography of the area harkened back to Draenor in its heyday, given the number of stalactites and stalagmites around, the latter of which were useful for blocking line of sight. And even if they _were _seen, there was a chance that seeing a blood elf would not raise any suspicions. Ardelan had a far larger body mass, but having hid in the shadows with the rest of his kind for decades, he knew how to remain unseen.

Of course, there was the possibility that the guards would be looking elsewhere at this point in time. Tartarus likely passed through here and would let his business be known. But then again, the fel orc would have likely made a big entrance to the cavern with his captive(s). Hopefully the guards would wait for that.

_Too many ifs and maybes here...but what else can we do?_

Beckoning to Shahra to follow him, the Vindicator hoped that the only course of action was still viable.

"Hey Ardelan...what are they?"

The draenei glanced at Shahra with irritation. An irritation that she guessed stemmed from more than just her words. Nevertheless, he still answered.

"What?" the Vindicator whispered. "Who are what?"

"Them..." the blood elf whispered, pointing at the slaves. "What are they? They're not blood elves, they're not naga and...well, they're like nothing I've ever seen."

Ardelan remained silent, peeking around the stalagmite that he and the sin'dorei were hiding behind. Mottled skin in shades of grey and light blue, sharp dirty teeth, tentacle chins...they looked almost like draenei really. But Shahra knew that that couldn't be the case. If Ardelan was a common example of his race, then such creatures were certainly oddities. Thinner, less muscular and although seven feet tall on average, their hunched figures removed any regality they might have possessed. In a sense, they seemed to be-...

"Broken..." whispered Ardelan, as if reading the blood elf's mind. "Krokul, in my own language. And they're no concern of yours or mine."

Shahra remained silent. In light of Ardelan's words, the crack of whips and the moans of these...Broken, she didn't feel like talking much. At least not initially.

"No concern?" she whispered as one of them collapsed from exhaustion. "Ardelan, this is murder. I mean, I know this kind of treatment was common in the First and Second Wars, but-..."

Ardelan slapped her.

"What do you know?" the draenei snarled, his voice laced with venom. "You think I know nothing? You think Azeroth was the first world the old Horde brought to ruin?"

Shahra remained silent, her eyes locked with Ardelan's, blue energy sizzling from them.

_This is a servant of the Light?_

"You know little of me, my people, or their history," continued the Vindicator. "So let me assure you that a, I know more about slavery and torture than you ever will. B, this is nothing in the grander scheme of things. And c, even if we _were _to worry about a few slaves, they are Broken. _Krokul_. Mutated draenei who are worthy of neither pity nor-..."

"Draenei?" asked Shahra. "Your own kind are in chains and you-..."

"They're not my own kind, don't you _see _that? Broken are not true draenei Shahra, any more than you would claim to be a blood elf when we first met. They're filthy, disgusting creatures, cut off from the Light and brought this condition upon themselves. And besides, they're past saving."

Shahra remained silent, and not just from a desire to remain unseen.

The blood elf had always guessed that the draenei was prejudiced. After all, who wasn't in this world, or any other? She had even possessed some of it herself against the sin'dorei, a prejudice that was already being mitigated by her current state of existence. But then again, prejudice was not the same as hatred. And while she had expected such a feeling from individuals such as Hyperion or Tartarus, she would have never expected this from a servant of the Light.

_Well, there _was _the Scarlet Crusade..._

Shahra shook her head. She couldn't believe this. She didn't think of herself as sanctimonious or particularly pious. But even as a blood elf, she knew right from wrong.

"Broken..." the sin'dorei said slowly. "You said they couldn't be saved?"

Ardelan nodded.

"Well too bad," said Shahra, her eyes drifting to a Broken at the edge of the cavern in the midst of struggling for breath. "Because I'm saving that one."

* * *

Pain...despair...sorrow...

They were feelings that he was used to of course and this day was no different. He'd had these feelings for decades and despite the brief glimmer of hope that had presented itself to his kind five years ago, the norm had quickly resumed. In a sense, only circumstance had changed, with him being a slave to the Illidari rather than to fear. That was the price of letting that brief glimmer of hope to get to his head, believing that the Betrayer would live up to his promise of a free Outland. At least Magtheridon had been honest in his brutality.

_Some things never change._

But something _had _changed. A minor change, and one that had occurred in the last few minutes. Because having been allowed to slink away from his work in Shaft 3 for what amounted to rest, he was feeling something new. Not bad, not good, just different...he was experiencing confusion.

With a blood elf and draenei standing side by side, that was to be expected.

"Wh...what?" the Krokul rasped, having trouble to believe what he was seeing. Strange circumstances and that his left eye had been burnt out years ago didn't help in these kind of matters.

"He's rambling," murmured the draenei. "We should go before the guards see us."

"Ardelan, what kind of servant of the Light are you?" asked the sin'dorei. "He needs our help and you can give it to him."

The Krokul smiled faintly, having pieced more together than just his uncorrupted counterpart's name. For whatever reason, these two were enemies of his oppressors and for one reason or another, were in the most dismal part of Outland. And while the blood elf seemed to be of a mindset different to what he was used to, the Vindicator was no different from the rest of his kind.

"Shahra, you can't help it..." the draenei continued. "It went beyond our help long ago and-..."

"I'm not an it..." the Krokul rasped. "My name is Kordai."

Kordai...it had been a long time since he'd used his name.

Ignoring the feelings of nostalgia building up inside him, the slave rose to his knees and lay back against the stalagmite, pondering his next course of action. The slavers wouldn't come for him for a few more minutes at least-they had little regard for their subjects, but still understood that they had limits and that breaking those limits would result in fewer workers to extract iron for them. The pair in front of him were a different matter however and what amounted to his conscience prompted Kordai to tell them to escape while they could.

_Right, like they could get of here alive..._

"_Kordai_..." the draenei sneered. "I'm surprised you still bothered keeping your name."

The Krokul laughed bitterly. "We kept many aspects of our culture, _exiled one_. Not that you are capable of seeing it."

The Vindicator raised his warhammer, clearly more intent on falling back on old prejudices than...well, doing whatever he was really here for. Or maybe he was here to 'purify' his species. Regardless, the blood elf clearly had a separate agenda.

"Ardelan, stop it," she said, kneeling down to face Kordai. "Sorry about that. He's...a bit edgy."

Kordai remained silent. Having rested for this long, the pain in his body that he was usually able to keep at bay was returning to him. He didn't feel like speaking, especially to one of those who served the Betrayer.

"Are you injured? Is there anything I can-..."

"What do you want?" the Krokul asked, breaking his silence. He wasn't used to this sort of treatment. He preferred dealing with what he was used to, not female elves and pious Vindicators.

Problem was, the blood elf didn't seem to know what she wanted. While compassion had clearly drawn her to his side, other aspects had as well. And clumsily claiming that she wanted to help him, it was clear that she wasn't very good at hiding it.

"Help?" Kordai asked indignantly. "Oh yes, I will gladly accept your _help_. Your bow, your sword, your hookshot...I will gladly ally with you. Free Outland and forge a new beginning."

"I...I don't understand..."

"No? Well, I suppose that is hardly surprising. Oppressors really understand the needs of those they oppress. I myself did not understand at first. Right up to the moment I voiced my concerns to my masters I was under the delusion that the draenei had secured their future." He stuck a claw inside the hole where his eye used to be. "After that...well, let's just say I was able to see better."

The elf looked ill, as if finally comprehending Kordai's situation and that of the rest of his kind. The draenei however, was far less sympathetic. And bringing his unblemished blue face to Kordai's scarred grey one, he made that abundantly clear.

"Do not play the victim here, _Broken_," the one named Ardelan snarled. "You brought this upon yourself. You helped the Illidari gain power and now, right when our kind needs you the most, you play the role of dutiful servants. And even in cases such as yourself, you can't even formulate an effective resistance."

Kordai laughed, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. As strange as this situation was, it had least brought him rare amusement.

"You claim to know all, yet understand little. Even now, the Ashtongue Deathsworn stand ready. Akama will cast down the Illidan the Betrayer and..." He trailed off.

He'd forgotten about the blood elf.

Was this nothing more than a trick to get him to reveal information? He'd fallen from Akama's ranks years ago, so he couldn't say how effective they had been in continuing their facade of being faithful servants of Illidan while secretly plotting his downfall. It wasn't exactly a secret that he'd once been among them and if they _had _been slipping recently, perhaps the powers that be had decided that subtlety was a surer way to get information. Exactly how they had got a draenei to play the role was beyond him, but the entire Krokul, not to mention the Lost Ones that dwelled in the Swamp of Sorrows on the world called Azeroth, were testament that even the sons and daughters of Argus were not incorruptible, if Archimonde and Kil'jaeden had not proved that millennia ago...

_Home...if only I could have seen it._

"Listen, I don't know anything about the Ashtongue Deathsworn or this Betrayer," said the blood elf eventually, not noticing the perplexed look the draenei shot her upon her second claim of ignorance. "All I want to do is get home."

Kordai let out a raspy chuckle. "Outland is your home, sin'dorei. You're already there."

"Not to me it isn't," said the blood elf firmly. "Azeroth is my home and always will be. And while I accept that I can do little for you, if you could help me here, it would...well..."

Kordai remained silent, his gaze fixed with that of the blood elf's gaze and ignoring the draenei's comments about how Broken couldn't be trusted, how the fel magic that ran through them cut them off from the Light. The girl in front of him was an interesting specimen to be sure. Either she was a master manipulator or, if she had come from the world beyond the Dark Portal, was unbelievably ignorant. He knew little of the world or the beings that had come through the portal once twenty-four years ago and again with its re-opening, but from what he had heard, none of them were fools.

The foolish never survived long in Outland...

"Very well, I will tell you how you can escape," said Kordai eventually. "Carry on and you will come to a final T-junction. The path to your right will take you to a rail system that runs under the Mountains of Flame to Hellfire Peninsula-part of a delivery system to Hellfire Citadel when it was ruled by Magtheridon. The path to your left will lead to a ladder that emerges in the courtyard of Fort Elron. What path you take in the end is up to you."

Kordai could have told her more, but a bout of coughing prevented him from doing so. And even if his lungs were able to somehow throw off the dust choking them, he wasn't sure if he would have. No-one should have their path laid out for them completely. That was dogma, and dogma led to stagnation. And as the draenei had learnt against the Horde, stagnation doomed them.

Kneeling down and saying "thank you" and "shorel'aran," Heading onwards to the passage that led to the T-junction, it was clear that she wasn't going to stagnate anytime soon.

"That's an interesting friend you've got there," said Kordai eventually to his uncorrupted counterpart.

"She's not my friend," answered the draenei firmly, his gaze heading towards the passage.

"I see. So...more like an ally then?"

"No," said the one called Ardelan, adjusting the straps of his armour as he did so. "More like someone I'm forced to work with despite a great dislike."

"How terrible for you."

Kordai knew that he had perhaps pushed the draenei too far with that comment, given the venomous glare he shot his way. The uncorrupted members of his kind were often pious, but still had the prowess to back their threats up, whether it be through the Light or the arcane. Suffice to say, this draenei had the power of the Light and knew how to swing it.

Somewhat surprisingly, he also knew how to call upon its healing powers as well.

Kordai remained silent, letting the healing powers wash over him. Mending his wounds, restoring his energy...he couldn't feel the power of the Light in the same way he had before his mutation, but the results were clear to see. What was less clear however, was exactly what was running through the draenei's mind. And considering that this day had been curious enough, the Krokul decided to follow up on his re-emerging curiosity.

"What?" asked Kordai clumsily. "What are you-..."

"Repayment," murmured the draenei impassively.

"Pardon? Repayment for what?"

The one named Ardelan sighed. It was clear that he was doing this out of service to the Light rather than any deep felt sympathy.

"As a slave, I figure you have little to lose and therefore told the truth about our escape route. So in accordance with general courtesy, I suppose I should you thank you for this honesty, rare as it is in your kind."

Kordai blinked. Healing powers of the Light, a draenei praising and insulting him in the same sentence, ignorant blood elves, Vindicators being stealthy...

...clearly this wasn't a normal day at all.

* * *

"How...much further...does this...Light forsaken...ladder...go?"

"I don't know Ardelan and your whining isn't making things any easier."

"Shut up donkey ears."

Letting out a sigh that sounded exaggerated but actually wasn't, Shahra Dreamsinger resisted turning the issue into an argument and instead focussed on climbing up the ladder that supposedly led to Fort Elron's courtyard. She'd lost count of the rungs hours ago and playing word games with Ardelan was out of the question. Because much to her surprise, the draenei was nearly out of breath. Or, at least to her surprised until she appreciated his kind's anatomy...

Hooves.

Despite being clad in heavy armour, despite wielding a warhammer that probably weighed more than she did, Shahra had not seen Ardelan tired until now. And considering that the draenei had hooves for feet rather than the five toed, flat soled feet that most races had, this wasn't that surprising. He couldn't afford to rely on his hooves for much support, instead having to rely almost entirely on his upper body strength. And while not lacking in that department, the Vindicator was still having a tough time.

_Guess they weren't expecting for draenei to come up this way, _thought the blood elf smugly as Ardelan let out what she supposed was a curse in his own language. _In the end, maybe they only go down..._

Or they were shipped in from Hellfire Peninsula. But having taken the ladder that led to the courtyard, Shahra knew she'd have to wait awhile before she saw the rail system for herself before making any conclusions. And as to how naga were supposed to use the ladder...well, that had been put on the backburner.

Having come to the T-junction a few...well, probably more than a few minutes ago, both the blood elf and draenei had decided without discussion that they'd take the path to the left. Both of them wanted Leo back, providing he was still alive. And while Shahra wasn't too sure about the chances of his continued survival considering that Hyperion was probably assuming that Tartarus had left her for dead, she had to hope.

_But supposing he is alive. What then? How will he react to-..._

"Hey Shahra, hurry up! My tail's getting cramped!"

Glancing down, the sin'dorei saw that Ardelan had seemingly gotten the hold of climbing a ladder. And as a result, he was right below her.

"Sure, sure..." she murmured, glad she wasn't wearing a dress. Ardelan was pious, but she didn't feel like adding another weapon to his verbal arsenal.

Although she'd never admit it to the draenei, Shahra was beginning to have second thoughts about taking this route. If by some chance Leo was alive, then what? She was a blood elf now and while perhaps not as helpless as she'd been in her previous life, that amounted to little when it came to trust. Ardelan might have given her the benefit of the doubt, but the draenei had never built up trust in the first place. She and the human...well, there was certainly _some _connection that existed between them, forged in a fight for survival. But having become one of those who the man opposed...what then? Would he see that as broken trust? Bad enough that she'd got him captured in the first place, but when they came face to face...what would he see? A friend? Or, more likely, would he see a-...

"Shahra, hurry up! Do you want to save Leonard or not?!"

The blood elf grimaced. Leonard...Ardelan was close enough to use the man's proper forename. Lucky bastard. _He _hadn't had to go through what she had.

"Well? Do you want to or-..."

"Yes..." said the sin'dorei slowly. "I want to..."

Finally reaching the top of the ladder, Shahra took comfort in that whatever she had become, a liar wasn't among them.

Sliding the stone slab above her to one side, the elf instantly became something else-cold. As bad as the underbelly of Fort Elron had been, it had at least provided warmth, said warmth rising into the cold night air in wisps of latent heat. Quickly climbing up into the courtyard and leaning against the inner stone wall, Shahra almost found herself wishing to be back down there. Ardelan however, was under no such restraint, seemingly unfeeling of the air's icy touch.

"Ah..." he said, noticing the blood elf's discomfort. "The cool brisk wind of the north."

"W...wind?" Shahra asked, having trouble speaking with her chattering teeth. "But there is no wind."

"Course there isn't. I was simply remembering the days when Outland was Draenor and it had seas."

Had she been in authority, the blood elf would have reprimanded the draenei for letting his mind drift. But not only would that be a reprimand a long time coming, Ardelan's mind being elsewhere ever since they'd encountered Kordai, but Shahra didn't have it in her to criticize. It was as if the blood in her brain had frozen and was slowing her mind.

_Cold...so cold..._

As Ardelan moved the slab back to where it had been, albiet leaving it slightly open so they'd know which way to go after they'd rescued Leo, Shahra surveyed the courtyard. Blood elves, naga...they were nowhere to be seen. Apparently even the Illidari felt the cold touch of the elements, though given how it was the time of deepest night, a reduced guard presence could probably be attributed to the timeframe as well. Still, there was enough light to see however, the moon that Ardelan called the Pale Lady shining over them and whoever else was in the courtyard. Individuals such as the pair that just entered the keep...

_What in the-..._

It was just a glance, the pair entering through the door that led to the tower where Shahra herself had been not so long ago. But that glance was enough and given Ardelan's murmuring, he had clearly seen them too.

"That figure..." said the blood elf slowly. "He seemed familiar..."

Ardelan nodded. "I know what you mean. The larger one...it reminded me of something..."

The sin'dorei remained silent, letting the cold air wash over her. One figure had definitely been larger than the other, though it had been the smaller figure rather than the larger she had sensed familiarity with.

"Let's go," said Shahra eventually. "There's only two of them. Maybe they can give us some info on where Leo is."

Ardelan remained silent for a moment, then nodded, ignoring the fact that the blood elf was asserting herself over him and that she was shaking like a leaf.

_Maybe things are looking up..._ thought Shahra to herself as she headed for the door. _Interrogations, back in the warmth...this might be easier than I thought._

With a slow creaking sound that she'd missed the last time the elf had entered the keep, Shahra opened the door...

...and froze.

After all, interrogating Hyperion and a blue robed behemoth couldn't be described as easy...


	19. Of Might and Magic

**Denial**

**Chapter 19: Of Might and Magic**

Hyperion...

To say that Shahra Dreamsinger was surprised would have been an understatement. And to say that she was confused would have been an understatement as well, considering how the astromancer began to clap slowly, his bodyguard watching on.

"Nice..." said the sin'dorei slowly. "Very nice. I'm beginning to see what interest Kael'thas has in you."

Ardelan seemed intent on preventing the conversation from falling into a cliché, grabbing his warhammer with every intention of using it. Shahra held out her left arm to stop him, her right dithering between her shortsword, bow or hookshot. She didn't want to end this conversation just yet but when she did, she wanted it to be on her own terms.

"Really?" asked the former quel'dorei. "And what interest would that be?"

Hyperion shrugged. "Hell if I know. But that you're here standing before me is certainly a clue, one that I might use if I were inclined to chase after every scrap of information like my life depended on it."

Shahra's gaze remained focussed on the astromancer as he began pacing around, unable to tell whether he was planning an escape or was confident that he was in control.

"But those days are over, correct?" asked the astromancer eventually. "You know what you are now. Sin'dorei, not quel'dorei."

"Yes, I know..." murmured Shahra. "I also know _who _I am."

"Indeed? And who are you?"

Shahra couldn't answer that question.

It was strange really, the entire scenario presented before her. In one sense it was saturated with deja vu, what with her confronting Hyperion in the bottom room of the keep again, the astromancer believing himself to be in charge of the situation. Yet it was also different, and not only from the differences in the blood elf's number of lackeys and his position in the room. She was a blood elf rather than a high elf now for starters and that was a significant difference in itself. She felt more in control now, not relying on a human for protection who was no longer present. But unlike before, she couldn't say who she was. And that was a source of much distress.

"You can't answer that question can you?" sneered Hyperion. "Well, don't worry. Change is always difficult. That's why the strong are capable of making it while the weak dwell in the past."

Once again Shahra couldn't answer the question. And with Ardelan simply staring at the blue robed figure, it was clear that she couldn't rely on the draenei for verbal support.

"I'm going to cut right to the chase Shahra," said Hyperion, realizing he had the upper hand. "When I saw you in the keep last time, I considered you a nuisance. Someone beneath me. Someone who _insulted _me. And as ruler of Fort Elron, I can't allow that."

"Of course not..." murmured the former high elf. "After all, slavery is built on the oppressor's supposed dignity."

"But then again, sending Tartarus to deal with you may have been too hasty," continued the astromancer, ignoring Shahra's moral indignation. "I don't know how you did it, but somehow you not only defeated him but became one of us in the process." He let out a laugh. "As the old saying goes, never send a fel orc to do a blood elf's job."

"I highly doubt that's an old saying."

Hyperion glared at Shahra for the interruption. "Time moves differently in Outland, little girl. Things get old quickly, as per what we've established here. What you've seen around you Shahra is the future. And out of respect for your efforts, not to mention the gratitude I possess for ridding me of that red skinned brute, I'm offering you the chance to come quietly."

For a third time, Shahra had trouble answering.

As much as she hated to admit it, the offer was tempting. The last time Hyperion had offered her a place within the Illidari, she had refused and had gone on to be a thorn in his side for the next few hours. But things were different now. She was now a "child of blood," not one "of noble birth." What she had been was no longer what she was. And what she was now was being offered a place in this world, something that she had never truly had after the fall of Quel'Thalas. And besides, what was there to be gained by refusing? Would she die for a culture that she was no longer part of, for something she no longer was? After all that had happened, with her abilities and personality changing, not to mention a selective memory, she no longer knew who she was. In the end, _what _she was was all she had.

"Well?" asked Hyperion. "Do you accept my offer? Or should we have a repeat of the last time you were here?"

Shahra glanced at Ardelan, still engaged in his staring contest with the figure in blue. What would he care what she did? He was an ally, true, but not a friend. Not like Leo.

_Leo..._

He'd been here beside her. The human had convinced her not to go with Hyperion the first time. But back then he'd had a reason to and she had a reason to believe him. But right now, Shahra couldn't think of any reason not to. She was of the same race as Hyperion now. Ardelan wouldn't care what she did. And if by some chance Leo was still alive, he'd want nothing to do with her now that she had become a member of those he was opposed to.

"Alright..." said Shahra eventually. "I've made my choice."

"And?" asked Hyperion. "What's your answer?"

"My choice is to...to..."

The former high elf trailed off. Deja vu had caught up with her. Specifically the memory of what Leo had told her the last time she was here...

"_I'm a human being Shahra. A short lived, short-sighted human whose only inter-species conflict has been with bandits and the usual disputes between the Seven Kingdoms. But I know enough that being what you are is important to you. Hell, I even respect that now, after seeing that exchange there. I'm not of your world or culture, but I know that if you give yourself up now to Hyperion and his master, even if they let you live long enough to appreciate what you've done, you won't be able to live with yourself anyway. _Choose_ what you want to be, rather than have it forced on you."_

As glitchy as her memory was, Shahra remembered that. And through that memory, she realized the truth. Hyperion wasn't giving her a choice here. He was giving her an ultimatum. And no matter what the benefits of joining the Illidari were, Shahra knew that neither Hyperion nor Kael'thas could have given her what Leo could have or those she knew on Azeroth...

Friendship.

"My choice is not to go with you," said the blood elf firmly. "Whatever you can offer me Hyperion, it's not worth-..."

_Flash!_

For a second, Shahra wasn't sure what had happened. In another second, with her back thumping against the keep's inner wall and her stomach winded, she knew exactly what had happened. Hyperion had hit her with a magical missile. And with Ardelan maintaining a shield of light against a barrage of fireballs from the blue robed figure, it was clear that there was nothing to stop the astromancer from making his next attack more damaging...possibly even lethal.

"You're out of your league here wrench," sneered the astromancer, apparently having come to the same conclusion that Shahra had. "Magic will always triumph over might and as far as you have come, you still lack sufficient aghh!"

_Finally. Thought he'd never shut up._

It was bad enough that Hyperion had corrupted the "brain over brawn" saying, let alone steering it to his own purposes. But his flaw of overconfidence was a welcome one, given that he had been carrying out a monologue under the assumption that any attack Shahra would make would be at close quarters and therefore able to be repelled. He hadn't counted on the possibility that she could ready her bow within a second, firing an arrow right through the astromancer's right hand. And with the lord of Fort Elron clutching the wrist below in pain as blood poured out of the palm, he wasn't counting on the possibility that his enemy could have used the time to get to close quarters.

His bodyguard was another matter however...

With a speed that Shahra wouldn't have thought possible from a being of his size, Hyperion's lackey broke off his attack from Ardelan, moved to Hyperion, yanked the arrow out of the astromancer's palm and threw it towards the attacking blood elf in a manner similar to a throwing knife.

_Son of a-..._

The arrow didn't hit Shahra, but not because of any supernatural speed or reflexes. In actual fact she owed her survival to a draenei Vindicator, diving into her as the arrow soared over them.

"That...was...close..." rasped the draenei, his divine shield having clearly taken a lot out of him.

The former high elf didn't thank Ardelan for his efforts. Not from lack of gratitude, but rather from a lack of air. Having a seven feet tall behemoth clad in heavy armour wasn't doing her ability to breathe any favours or her ability to move. And while she managed to rectify both problems in a few seconds, that was all the time Hyperion needed to get to the balcony overlooking the room, the drops of blood falling from his hand to the floor below exaggerating the meaning of his position. His "quel'danil" _(high peak) _so to speak.

"Very nice Dreamsinger..." snarled the astromancer, his face pale from loss of blood. "You've been able to prolong your life. However, it's not as if you're able to prevent your inevitable death is it?"

Shahra smirked as Ardelan got to his feet, feeling an unfamiliar surge of confidence as he did so.

"We all die in the end Hyperion. When is another matter."

"Fair enough. But I assure you that all three of you will be dying very soon."

Ardelan blinked. "_Three _of us? You having trouble counting?"

"No, you filth, I mean three. And with a certain human at the top of the keep about to have his magic drained along with anything else, that number is about to come down to two."

And with that he departed.

Shahra could have gone after him. She could have shot him. She could have...well, there were any number of things she could have done and it was clearly a moment of great surprise for the draenei that she didn't do them.

"Shahra? Why didn't you stop him?" asked Ardelan, having recovered enough breath to return to his position of authority.

The blood elf didn't answer. She couldn't care less what Ardelan thought. All she cared about right now was the following revelations...

a) Leo was alive.

b) Leo had magic in him which should have been impossible.

c) If Leo had magic in him through inexplicable means, then it might provide an explanation for her own condition.

d) The only way she would find out was if she followed Hyperion.

e) The emerging naga wouldn't make that easy.

* * *

"Wakey wakey human..."

Leo murmured something indistinguishable that still conveyed his desire to remain asleep. Just five more minutes. Five minutes to reside in limbo before heading off to school to learn everything from mathematics to why and how the Holy Light should be worshipped. Just five more blissful...

"Get up now, before I let gravity do it for you!"

...So much for bliss.

Slowly opening his eyes and doing his best to flex his arms, Leo marvelled as to how the mind worked, as to how it had led him to believe he was asleep rather than unconscious, to believe that he was home, to believe that he was still five years old and was being coerced to go to school rather than...well, whatever Hyperion wanted him for.

"Sorry mum...I'll get up now."

The blood elf looked confused at such a comment, much to the human's pleasure. Or at least what amounted for pleasure. Because in circumstances such as these, there wasn't much to be happy about. Ardelan was dead. Shahra was at least as good as dead if not dead already. The information he carried would never reach those who needed it. And despite the occasional flicker of hope that sparked within him, Leonard Ragoa knew that it would only be a matter of time until he was dead as well.

Somehow, that didn't bother him as much as it should have. But then again, with his body still aching from Tartarus' pummelling and his soul grieving for the loss of his friends, maybe death was nothing more than the preferable option to what amounted to his life.

"I'm not a very patient man," said Hyperion, pacing around his human captive. "Do you know why I am here?"

Leo shrugged, his shoulders not bound by chains like his wrists and ankles. "I don't know. I guess your mum got drunk with the boys one night."

Hyperion raised his right hand as if to bat Leo over the head...and then withdrew, much to the man's surprise. But what surprised him even more was the bandage wrapped around the palm of the hand, clearly used to stem the flow of blood. Obviously the sin'dorei had experienced a mishap recently.

"Charming..." murmured the astromancer as he returned to pacing around his captive. "Very charming..."

Leo could have provoked the blood elf further at this point, but chose not to. He didn't mind if Hyperion reduced him to a pile of ash right now, but if that were to happen, he wanted time to ponder what he had regarded as impossible.

_Hyperion's been injured...so what does that mean?_

In truth, that probably meant very little. A bloody palm could have come from any range of accidents made on the blood elf's own part. But even so, Leo couldn't, or rather wouldn't, deny the possibility that someone else had done it to him. Hyperion was clearly a megalomaniac, but he didn't strike the human as being careless or possessing any other trait that led to small accidents. Maybe, just maybe...

"Alright human, I'm going to cut to the chase."

_Damn it. So much for pondering._

It was clear that the astromancer wasn't going to dance around whatever he had approached Leo for. And with the blue robed behemoth approaching, any dancing on his own part would go the opposite way of an encore.

"In case of you providing any more original comments, I will stress that yes, I know my history," said Hyperion, clearly lapsing into a proper speech. "I know of how nearly three millennia ago, humans and high elves stood side by side against the forest trolls of Quel'Thalas."

Leo nodded. "Yes, I know. Shame how some alliances don't seem to last."

"Perhaps..." said the astromancer slowly. "But considering how..._useful _your kind was to ours in the last two great wars on Azeroth, perhaps it would have been best for us if we realized the truth much sooner. Or rather for the quel'dorei. We are no longer of their kind after all."

"I figured that."

Silence once again descended upon the keep, though only courtesy of Hyperion apparently pausing for effect rather out of indignation. As for what that effect was for however, Leo had no idea. He was familiar with the history of the Troll Wars and the first human nation of Arator, but its relevance to the here and now seemed trivial.

Clearly Hyperion saw differently...

"Regardless of how foolish our ancestors were in trusting you, they were able to pick up on the nature of humanity and magic," said the astromancer. "They were able to see that while your kind was, and still is, innately clumsy in handling the arcane, there are still select human individuals capable of wielding it."

Leo nodded, unable to see where this was going.

"_Select _individuals," repeated the astromancer. "Individuals that one can tell in a glance. Individuals that until not so long ago, I would not have counted you among."

Silence once more descended upon the keep. A silence that was eventually broken. A silence whose method of ending was unique in that it ended with something unexpected...laughter.

"You're mad..." chuckled Leonard Ragoa. "A mage? A wizard? You think I'm any of these things? You've totally lost-..."

"No, human. I don't think you're any of these things. It is simply a matter of what I know. And what I know is that magic is coursing through your veins."

The laughter stopped abruptly.

"I must admit, I never would have guessed if not for my friend here," continued Hyperion, gesturing at the figure in blue. "But then again, his kind has been practicing magic even before the formation of the Highbourne. He was the one who sensed the magic within you."

Leo found himself having trouble forming words. Somehow he managed though.

"Hyperion...you're wrong. I assure you, I don't carry magic within me."

Now it was the astromancer's turn to laugh.

"Oh, you make a very poor liar, my friend. Indeed, one could almost be mistaken as to you having a sense of honour. But regardless, I know for a fact that a degree of magic courses within you, the remnants of a bloodlust spell, cast around the time of your escape from Tempest Keep."

"Hyperion, this is-..."

"You know, I actually thought Kael was too lax back in the keep in regards to your escape and that of your whore companion. But how was he to know that you had somehow had this coursing through you? Indeed, I'm sure that if you truly _were _ignorant of the power you possess, you might have wondered how you were able to escape so easily after so long in captivity? But it's hardly as if Kael wanted you to escape, is it?"

Leo didn't answer. Right now, he was willing to believe anything.

Assuming Hyperion was telling the truth, what did this mean for him? Like the implications of Hyperion's bloody palm, probably very little. Shahra had been the one having trouble with magic, not him. But then again, her condition hadn't been sudden and there could have been any other number of factors that could have contributed to it, many of which he'd been exposed to as well.

_Or was it before that? Could one of those traitors at the Allerian Stronghold have slipped in-..._

"Well human, it appears that you believe that silence is linked with valour. That being said, why don't I silence you permanently?"

Leo glanced up at the astromancer, his left hand glowing with blue energy. A "mana drain," so to speak. Evidently Hyperion intended on sucking this supposed magic out of him and anything else he possessed that might have been of interest.

"You may as well do that..." murmured the human as the blue energy streamed into him. "I have nothing more to say to you."

Technically that was a lie. But if Hyperion was ignorant of the information he possessed about Hellfire Citadel, so much the better.

It was strange really, how the astromancer's spell didn't hurt. No doubt Hyperion was capable of casting harmful magic, but since he wanted something he believed the human to have, perhaps he didn't wish to harm his prisoner. Not yet at least. Making him tired was apparently another matter though. Not from sleep, but from weariness. His vision blurry, his muscles stagnant, it would have been tempting to lose consciousness then and there and let fate take its course.

_Might as well do so. What do I have to lose anyway?_

Yes...letting fate take its course seemed to be the best option.

Especially so when fate's intention was for the door to the throne room to burst open, courtesy of a draenei and blood elf.

"Anar'alah belore!" _("By the light of the sun!") _exclaimed Hyperion, breaking the magical connection with his prisoner as he turned to face the intruders. "What are you two doing here?!"

Leo supposed that one of the intruders answered the astromancer's question. Bursting in like that had made it clear that subtlety was on neither of the intruders' minds. But the details of their comeback were lost on him. His vision was blurry and his hearing was declining also.

_Maybe there really was magic in me..._

"This is unacceptable!" the blood elf shouted, the tone of his voice and proximity to Leo allowing the human to hear him quickly. "The naga should have stopped you!"

One of the figures barred the door against...well, whatever started hammering away at it, while the other made a comment about naga looking like snakes and moving about as fast as them. Which was which however, was a fact unknown to the human. Steadily losing consciousness, he knew that if this confrontation didn't play out quickly, he'd soon miss it altogether.

"Well...obviously those snakes need a workout," said Hyperion. "But in the end, it doesn't matter. I have your friend and-..."

The astromancer's voice trailed off. Lying down on the floor that felt like...well, nothing, Leo was beginning to lose all his senses. And as the last vestiges of his consciousness pointed out, a monologue from Hyperion probably wouldn't be very interesting. Nor would anything else that followed.

As such, he missed the intruders charging forward, one absorbing the magic the astromancer and his lackey cast at him with a shield of Light whilst the other went to a nearby window

As such, he missed the figure bathed in Light covering the human as he smashed his chains with his warhammer whilst the other took out a hookshot and attached the metal tip to the window ledge in a manner similar to a grappling hook.

And on the brink of losing consciousness completely, he missed the cursing of his enemies while his Light-wielding saviour carried him over to the window, slung him over his back along with the smaller figure, grabbed the hookshot's cord and jumped off.

But there was something he didn't miss. And before he did indeed lose consciousness altogether, the rushing air doing nothing to slow his descent, he heard something. One of the figures was talking to him.

"Don't worry Leo. We'll be alright."

Leo didn't say anything. He simply didn't have it in him to do so. But as weak as his body was right now, his mind was just a bit stronger. And before that too went into limbo, it gave him one last thought. A shining light that he could take into the darkness.

..._Shahra._

* * *

Wrong, wrong, wrong...

Everything that could have gone wrong _had _gone wrong and staring blankly at the escape route his enemies had chosen, Hyperion suspected that if new factors were added to the situation he'd been presented with, they were bound to be unfavourable.

"The window..." said the astromancer slowly as he looked down at the courtyard. "Anar'alah _(By the Light)_, they jumped out the _window_..."

"Yes, I saw," said his companion, standing beside the astromancer. "Quite impressive as well. Clearly strength can still be found in those who followed Velen."

"Oh would you stop?!" Hyperion exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air as he paced around the throne room in frustration. "They're our _enemies, _demon! You're not supposed to admire them! You're supposed to tear out their souls and-..."

"I respect strength, sin'dorei," interrupted the eredar. "Unlike you, who never took the intruders seriously, I recognized their potential from the outset. You brought this upon yourself."

Hyperion didn't have an answer to that.

As much as the blood elf hated to admit it, his servant had a point. He had treated this entire series of events as a game, only to find out too late that the game had changed. Kael'thas had wanted the girl alive rather than dead, but the ruler of Fort Elron had still made that task much more intricate than it needed to be. And while the game wasn't over yet, the astromancer had run out of cards to play. Tartarus was apparently dead, rousing the guards would only add to the mess that Prince Sunstrider would inevitably discover and right now, he just didn't have it in him to go after them. He couldn't bear any more personal humiliation.

In the end, there was only one more card he could play...

And sending the eredar called Asteroth to deal with his enemies, Hyperion played it.

* * *

"Leo, can you hear me? Leo? Leo!"

If Ardelan wasn't on the run for his life right now, he might have waited to see how long it took for the blood elf to realize that shouting at the unconscious human wasn't going to accomplish anything. But since that wasn't the case, and that every second they remained in Fort Elron increased the likelihood of their death, he decided not to engage in luxury.

"Shahra, he's unconscious," said the draenei, pulling both human and former high elf along the courtyard. "And if we don't get moving, that condition will only get worse."

"But can't you heal him? You know, with the power of the Light and all that?"

Sighing, the draenei began shifting the stone slab that led to the fortress' underbelly. Oh, if only the blood elf was unconscious and his friend as right as rain.

"Shahra, I can only heal him," murmured the draenei. "And given that he doesn't appear to be wounded, I can only assume that anything as complex as magic or as simple as a toxin could be responsible. And as I _don't _know what the cause is, our only recourse is to head south to an area where, Light willing, we have the time and individuals necessary to help him."

Much to Ardelan's relief, Shahra didn't argue, carrying the unconscious human over her shoulder as she headed down the ladder after the draenei.

As the Vindicator had simply slid down to the bottom of the ladder in order to prevent another depiction of the shortcomings of his kind's anatomy, he had some time to think and not just on the human's condition. While that was indeed a cause of concern, his first priority was to get to-...

"By the Light, this guy weighs a tonne."

Ardelan ignored the sin'dorei. Yes, he knew his destination, and while he wasn't particularly inclined to trust the word of a Krokul, he knew that simply heading out through the gates of Fort Elron wasn't an option. The Mountains of Flame were inhospitable in the best of times, he'd never been in them before and what little he knew of them dated back to the age where Outland was known as Draenor and as such, more than a piece of rock drifting through the Twisting Nether. Who was to say that it hadn't changed?

"Alright...I'm done."

Nodding at the blood elf, Ardelan slung the human over his left shoulder while holding his warhammer with the other. For better or worse, he had to trust Kordai's word. And heading through the darkness back to the T-junction, he found that surprisingly easy to do.

_Probably a side effect of the company I've been forced to keep..._the draenei thought to himself, passing the route that led back to the slave area. _Humans, blood elves...maybe even orcs._

The Vindicator returned to the here and now. If Leo had verified his superiors' suspicions as to what resided in Hellfire Citadel, that might become a reality. Unfortunately.

Glancing back at Shahra, Ardelan had to admit that if he'd been taking baby steps, she'd probably been an ideal stepping stone. Although now a member of a race that he was in opposition to, he now regarded her with more respect than he'd done so before. While unable to forget the battles of Azuremyst, he had to admit that the girl was living proof that any mortal race was comprised of individuals. And clearly she recognised that too. She hadn't followed Hyperion, but had instead remained loyal to Leo, risking life and limb to save him.

_She'll be able to call him Leonard anytime now I guess._

"Ardelan...are we there yet?"

_Or not._

The draenei had known Leonard Ragoa long enough to know that asking "are we there yet?" wouldn't be enough to shatter whatever friendship the human and elf had already built up. But asking such a question when their way out of Fort Elron was crystal clear...well, that wasn't the best basis for conversation in the scope of creation.

It was apparent to Ardelan that the trio had arrived at their destination and that Kordai had been telling the truth. Emerging from the narrow corridor to a much larger area, complete with a platform and trio of carts, this area was evidently a site of imports and exports. Or at least had been. With the abundance of dust and the lack of anything other than stone and wood for it to accumulate on, it was clear that the track hadn't been used in a long time.

_Perfect._

"So...this is our ride out?" asked Shahra.

Ardelan nodded. "It appears so." Walking over to the front cart, he inspected the control mechanism.

"Operated by a single lever. You should be able to control it while having enough space to fit Leo in as well."

Shahra opened her mouth to respond but a glance from the draenei silenced her. And keeping that silence, she proceeded to get herself and her human friend into the front cart.

Remaining on the platform and glancing back at the entrance to the cavern, Ardelan he felt he owed Shahra an explanation. However, this entire situation demanded an explanation also, one that was relevant to all three of him rather than a single blood elf. Why hadn't any more Illidari come after them? Granted, it was the dead of night and going straight from the keep to the courtyard would have bypassed the tower's naga, but even so, Hyperion should have managed to send at least some of his warriors after them. It would have been clear that they hadn't headed out through the fortress gates, so that only left the route they were taking now.

"Alright Ardelan, we're ready."

Sighing, the draenei moved to the second cart. He wasn't going to get any answers by standing around or if he did, he probably wouldn't live long enough to appreciate them. Right now, all he wanted to appreciate was having sky rather than stone under his head, a cart that actually gave him room to move and the safety and sanctuary that-...

"You know, I always knew your kind were cowards. I never imagined that stupidity was also inherent."

In an instant, Ardelan had his answer as to why no Illidari had come after them. However, even in the short time available to him, he had the time to appreciate the ramifications.

After all, what draenei would not instantly revile a man'ari?

"Even now, you are fleeing..." hissed the red-visaged eredar, standing in the back cart, his muscular body covered by dark blue robes. "Even now, after nearly twenty-five millennia, your kind flees before us."

Ardelan didn't know how a creature as large as this demon was able to sneak into the back cart unnoticed. Nor did he know whether this steady pace of a few kilometres per hour would last without Shahra at the lever. And while a quick backwards glance informed the Vindicator that the blood elf wasn't manning the cart and was instead staring at the demon before her, the draenei had no way of telling whether the track to Hellfire Peninsula would remain flat or would move vertically at times.

"I'm surprised..." said Ardelan eventually. "I saw you beside Hyperion twice, yet you exercised restraint both times. I did not expect those who serve the Dark Titan to be so controlled." His eyes narrowed, welcoming the loathing which built up in him. "Or should I say _served_? Where's your master now, demon? A corner of the Twisting Nether reserved for those fallen from grace?"

In truth, Ardelan didn't know whether these claims were true or not. He knew the story of how the Dark Titan and creator of the Burning Legion had possessed the body of the human sorcerer Medivh, using his puppet to help open the Dark Portal and bring the Horde into Azeroth and how a band of heroes led by the mage Khadgar and Sir Anduin Lothar of the Brotherhood of the Horse had banished the demon's spirit, but after that was a matter of conjuncture. Still, since the eredar that had followed Kil'jaeden and Archimonde were among Sargeras' first and foremost, there was perhaps a chance that the creature before him might shine light on the situation.

"The Dark Titan is none of your concern, draenei. If I were you, I'd focus on the issue of your imminent demise."

Or not.

Shahra moved forward, drawing her sword as she did so but Ardelan held out a palm to her, gesturing towards the controls. This was none of her business and someone needed to protect Leo. And if there were indeed turns in the track, she'd need to be at the helm to guide the carts.

"I know your name to be Ardelan," continued the eredar, smiling faintly as if able to read the draenei's line of thought, knowing that in the confrontation to come, it would only be the two of them. "My name is Asteroth. And I believe I should thank you."

Ardelan blinked. "Thank me. Why?"

The man'ari simply chuckled, appearing at ease, or at least as much as a ten foot tall demon could. But still, the Vindicator didn't lower his guard. Sargeras had used honeyed words to draw most of the eredar into his service and Ardelan had no reason to doubt that his lapdogs had learnt from their master when it came to deception.

"Hyperion usurped me..." said the eredar eventually. "Kael'thas sought to be rid of him and was concerned at my lack of correspondence, so he sent him here to take my place. In an instant, my master had regulated me from commander to left hand. "

"Really? Must have been terrible for you."

"But I persevered," continued Asteroth, ignoring Ardelan's interruption and seemingly talking to himself. "I knew that it would only be a matter of time until Kael realized his mistake. My initial goal was to build up the astromancer's spine, then break it at the right moment."

Ardelan remained silent. Breaking Hyperion's spine was appealing in its own right, but at the hands of a creature like this? No-one deserved that.

"But then you arrived," said the eredar, now truly talking to the draenei. "You tore through Fort Elron and revealed Hyperion as the incompetent waste of flesh and blood that he is. You saved me the trouble of having to pander to him-..."

Ardelan had heard enough. He reached for his hammer.

"Which is why..." said Asteroth, leaning down towards the draenei, "that it almost pains me to have to tear you apart."

Swinging his hammer upwards, Ardelan was determined to make sure that didn't happen.

Unfortunately for the draenei, determination could only get him so far. Yes, his greatest desire was to protect his friend (or friend_s_ if he included Shahra, and he supposed he might as well at this stage) and to send this perversion of what the sons of Argus were back to the Twisting Nether. However, desire could only get him so far against a creature millennia older than him. Asteroth had seen and done much and that knowledge was enough to pin the draenei's right arm to the cart with his left and bring his right fist into the draenei's neck. And taking advantage of the frailties of the weaklings who followed Velen, it was a simple matter to unsheathe a runeblade and point it at where his fist had just made contact.

"You were always slow..." Asteroth hissed as he cast a wall of fire between the "exiled one" and the blood elf, preventing the latter from aiding the former. "You were ever slower in your flight across the Great Dark. You were too slow in realizing the threat the orcs had become. And now, just like the rest of your bastard kind, your sloth will cost you your life."

His sky blue eyes locked in with the man'ari's baleful yellow ones, Ardelan didn't doubt that.

Factor in the carts swaying to one side, sending both eredar sprawling, suddenly his doubt was filled with confidence.

"Shahra, stay at the helm and keep this cart moving!" yelled Ardelan as he rose to his feet. "Keep going as fast as safely possible!"

"And you?" the blood elf asked, obeying the Vindicator's order if not comprehending. "What about _you_?"

Lifting his warhammer, Ardelan turned his attention back to the man'ari lying before him. "I have a score to settle Shahra. Let's leave it at that."

Bringing his warhammer downwards, the draenei prepared to settle it.

With Asteroth blocking the weapon with his runeblade, it was clear the man'ari wasn't content with that idea.

* * *

Draenei against man'ari. Light against dark. Winner take all.

At least that's how Ardelan saw the situation he was presented with, though technically his sight was fully occupied with the demon in front of him, not to mention his mind being mostly focussed on how to avoid being on the receiving end of the warlock's wrath. But even as he fought for both life and balance, the draenei was aware of the nature of this battle. It would be one of many between the two offshoots of the eredar, but to the Vindicator, that didn't diminish its significance. He had been raised to despise those who followed Sargeras since birth, but only now had that hatred truly become manifest.

As Asteroth bellowed in rage as he swung his runeblade in Ardelan's direction, it was clear the hatred was mutual.

"Anach kyree..." the eredar hissed as the draenei parried the blade with his warhammer. "A-rul shach kigon."

Grimacing, Ardelan brought his warhammer upwards to the demon's chin, only for his foe to step aside. He didn't like being called a "miserable insect," nor was he keen on having his heart eaten, but his desire to banish Asteroth from reality ran deeper than that. And as such he pressed his attack.

"Pitiful..." said the man'ari as he parried Ardelan's strike and subsequently sending the draenei stumbling backwards as he thrust his blade forward. "I wonder why Kil'jaeden ever bothered with you."

"He didn't..." snarled Ardelan, regaining his bearings. "He used the Horde to do his work for him. And even now, the true sons of Argus stand strong."

"Boldly said. But I remain unconvinced."

Whispering a prayer to the Light and its vessels, the Vindicator once again struck at the demon.

Ardelan knew that it was common for demons to gloat in the company of mortals, caught up in their arrogance and power. However, although arrogance was never something to be welcomed, the denizens of the Twisting Nether were perhaps an exception to the rule in that they often had the abilities to back their claims up. True, he had heard how Archimonde had fallen in the Battle of Mount Hyjal five years ago, so sure of his own success that he hadn't seen his defeat until it was too late, but Asteroth hadn't got his sights on the World Tree, nor did Ardelan have an army of wisps at his back. In the end, it was only the two eredar. And while the draenei attacked time and time again, keeping Asteroth on the defensive, he could tell that the man'ari was holding back.

"Well?" asked Ardelan as he parried yet another one of Ardelan's blows. "Where is your strength, _exiled one? _Where is the power of your so-called Holy Light?"

_Beyond your reach, dark one, _Ardelan thought bitterly as yet again he failed to penetrate Asteroth's defence. _And will always be so._

The draenei knew that it was only a matter of time before Asteroth unleashed his full powers and that the division between the two carts was all that stopped the demon from finishing him in close quarters. Asteroth had the advantage of height and reach and in such narrow confines, Ardelan couldn't get around him. Like his battle against Tartarus really, but not only was the draenei outmatched here instead of simply facing unfavourable conditions, but Shahra couldn't help him, still focussed on making the trip to Hellfire Peninsula as fast as possible.

_And it shows too, _thought the draenei with satisfaction as the carts swerved round a corner, sending both draenei and man'ari staggering. Although the two branches of the eredar had diverged over the millennia, both races still possessed hooves, which didn't allow easy balance. As long as Shahra kept her speed up, both Vindicator and warlock would remain on the same footing, however unstable.

_But what then? I can get my balance quicker than Asteroth can, but still not quick enough to actually land a blow. By the Light, why didn't K'ure prepare me for...for..._

Ardelan trailed off, an idea forming in his mind. And although he almost lost his head to a sweep from Asteroth's sword, the risk was worth it.

The techniques that the naaru K'ure had taught Ardelan, along with his fellow draenei, were certainly of great use. The Light was useful in the right hands and his martial prowess was a deciding factor in his continued survival. However, that didn't mean that he was forbidden to diverge from these techniques. Not so much from the Light, but his fighting style simply wasn't meant for these conditions. He'd been performing the same attacks over and over, with Asteroth casually parrying them each time. Maybe if he played to his own strengths here rather than that of a Vindicator as a whole...maybe he could win.

Serving with the carts as it turned, Ardelan put his theory to the test.

Dropping his warhammer, the draenei dived forward, leaping out of his cart and into the demon before him. And despite his shorter size, a combination of heavy armour and natural male draenei bulk ensured that when Asteroth fell back into his cart, he remained pinned.

"You asked where the Light is?!" Ardelan yelled over the roar of the carts, letting the golden energy course through him. "Let me show you!"

Technically it was his fists that were doing the showing, the Vindicator pummelling the despicable visage of the creature below him. But in the end, it didn't matter. This was the power of the Light. This was the power of the "exiled ones."

_Thump_...that was for Argus.

_Bam_...that was for his people.

_Whack_...that was for himself.

Soon, Ardelan lost count. The grievances against his people were so many, he couldn't possible avenge them all by himself.

That Asteroth grabbed his right fist as it came down, it was clear the man'ari wasn't going to make things any easier.

"Sheet-sah!" spat Asteroth as he bent back Ardelan's fingers with his left hand, grabbing the draenei's neck with his right.

_What? How did he-..._

"Worm!" the eredar yelled as he slammed the draenei's head against the side of the cart. "You piece of filth! How dare you touch me with your...your _disease_!"

With a combination of punches and slamming Ardelan's head against the metal, Asteroth began to purify it.

It didn't take long for Ardelan to realize his mistake. True, he had broken free from dogmatic strategy, but had let himself be overcome by hatred instead of channelling it. He was so intent on bringing harm to Asteroth that he hadn't considered the possibility that the demon was still capable of bringing harm to him in turn. For one, horrible moment, he had become what Sargeras had turned the majority of his people into.

_I'm no better than Asteroth._

Perhaps that was so. But then again, Asteroth hadn't helped an elf in emotional distress. Asteroth hadn't risked life and limb to aid a friend. And Asteroth certainly hadn't entered a pact of mutualism with divine beings. So with the draenei able to call upon the power of the Light to heal him and dodge Asteroth's intentional finishing blow, it was the wall of the cart that was incinerated in a burst of fel magic rather than the draenei.

Grabbing the demon by the neck and shoving his face down into the tracks, Ardelan knew what he had to do. Asteroth had to be stopped here and now, or more innocents would suffer. Hatred had no place in duty. Satisfaction would not be taken from the demon's screams of pain as his skin was torn away by the friction of the metal track. And as the man'ari cast him back into the middle cart with a burst of magical energy, Ardelan still felt impassive. He had a task to do and the demon's actions would not dissuade him.

"That...snarled Asteroth as he burnt away his mangled flesh, revealing exposed bone, "was a mistake."

Ardelan blinked in surprise, not expecting a demon to possess such a thing. But then again, the eredar had followed Sargeras willingly, becoming demons rather than being twisted into them. In the end, the Dark Titan probably had his work cut out for him.

Still, it was a surprise nonetheless. And that was all Asteroth needed to incinerate the barrier between the two carts and dart forward, sending Ardelan flying into the front cart alongside a blood elf and unconscious human.

"Ardelan!" exclaimed Shahra as she looked at the newly arrived draenei. "Are you alright?"

"Perhaps," sneered Asteroth as he incinerated the barrier between him and the mortals. "But not for long..."

Ardelan wanted to stop Shahra from drawing her shortsword and darting forward at the demon but simply couldn't recover fast enough from his rough landing. But watching the demon grab the sin'dorei's arm and slamming her skull against the lever with a sickening crack...that provided him with all the strength he needed.

"You monster!" he yelled, rising to his feet and swinging his fist. "You-..."

"Better a monster than a worm," sneered the man'ari, stepping aside and sending Ardelan sprawling all the way back to the rear cart. "But what would you know?"

The draenei remained silent. He didn't know of such things. And watching as Asteroth sniffed with contempt at the two unconscious figures in the front cart, he had no desire to.

"It appears the female has a thicker skull than I thought," said Asteroth, slowly walking towards the only remaining conscious foe on the rail. "The lever has been disabled and this ride is picking up speed. So even if you _could _defeat me, there is no way you could survive the crash."

Ardelan remained silent. True, the carts were picking up speed, but he didn't want to dwell on the possibility of...well, what Asteroth had just described.

"But you won't survive," snarled the man'ari, grabbing the draenei by his neck, his putrid breath as noticeable as his hate-filled eyes and torn flesh. "Your time has ended, worm. You will die right here, right now and the rest of your bastard kind will soon follow you into...into..."

Ardelan still didn't speak. He decided to let Asteroth's runeblade do the talking for him.

Some would call it blasphemy to use a demon's weapon. But in the end, there were things more important than faith, the sanctity of life foremost among them. So while the man'ari and draenei both had their beliefs, Ardelan knew that respect for life would never be embraced by those who followed Sargeras. So while he had perhaps damned himself by using Asteroth's weapon, if it meant saving his friend's lives and the lives of the slaves in Fort Elron who would have felt the wrath that only a demon could provide, so be it.

"Perhaps we face the darkness..." Ardelan whispered, letting Asteroth's body sink to the cold steel below him. "But I promise you, demon, we shall never embrace it."

Asteroth remained silent. Given that he was lying in a pool of his own blood, that was to be expected.

For his part, Ardelan didn't talk much either. He was exhausted for starters, and didn't want to waste what precious energy he had left. And besides, he had one last task to do. Having emerged into the wasteland that was Hellfire Peninsula and rapidly approaching a rail buffer, it was clear that these carts would crash. And while surviving it was not guaranteed, drawing Shahra and Leo close to him, Ardelan wanted to ensure that the odds were in their favour as well as his.

_Leo...Shahra...if we face the dark...we will do so together._

Not for the Light. Not for the information that Leo possessed. Rather, out of that which those who followed Sargeras lacked...

...Friendship.

* * *

_A/N_

_While not part of the brainwave that struck me during what became chapter 1 of this fic (back when it was a oneshot), the railway battle was something I envisioned early on, one in which Shahra was involved more. However, I cut that out for various reasons. Which is for the best I guess, because this fight scene was hell to write. And no, that isn't a pun._


	20. Make New Friends, but Keep the Old

**Denial**

**Chapter 20: Make New Friends, but Keep the Old**

Hyperion looked...unhappy.

"Unhappy" was such a wonderful word. If the astromancer had looked "sad" or "angry," then his mind was set within a particular emotional range. But since he was "unhappy," his actual mood was far more ambiguous, not to mention vague. And while the blood elf had no particular intention of being an enigma right now as he lay slumped on his throne, that was what he was conveying to anyone who might have been looking at him.

Which, given how he'd left explicit instructions to be left alone, weren't many people.

It would be incorrect to say that Hyperion was grieved that Asteroth was, in all likelihood, dead or in a condition close enough that made writing off the demon as dead a practicality. It would also be incorrect to say that the death of his left hand had angered him. The eredar had angered him so much in life that in a sense, he was almost glad that he _was_ dead. Almost.

_If only that blasted demon had survived. Or had at least lived long enough for me to finish him off._

The problem with the fact that Asteroth was apparently dead was that by extension, Hyperion's enemies were almost certainly alive. And while they presented little threat to him personally, Prince Kael'thas was another matter. Kael's orders were for the girl to be captured and while those orders didn't explicitly include the death of her companions, it was fair to say that he would have wanted it to happen. But not only had the astromancer failed to carry out these orders, but he had lost significant manpower in the process.

_Is this what happened to Asteroth? Am I merely the latest in line of succession?_

In his heart, Hyperion knew he wasn't. Asteroth had lost his position because of isolation. In contrast, the blood elf would lose his position because of genuine failure. And running a finger over the golden insert in his throne, the astromancer knew that sooner or later, he would have to inform Prince Kael'thas of it.

Activating a magical link between Fort Elron and Tempest Keep, Hyperion decided to get it over with. At the very least, he could claim that a quick response was a virtue that made him superior to Asteroth and was therefore worthy of continued rule. And since all that Kael'thas had to go on was his own word and whatever the guards of the fortress had gleaned, it was possible that he could shift the blame to the demon entirely.

_Hopefully..._

Slowly but surely, a clear image of the Eye formed-the inner palace of Tempest Keep. And with equal clarity, however puzzling it might be, the form of High Astromancer Solarian formed as well.

"Hyperion..." said the sin'dorei slowly, apparently surprised, but keeping her reaction hidden for the most part. "Anaria shola." _("Speak your business.")_

The current ruler of Fort Elron didn't oblige. He didn't _want _to speak his business to his usurper and a combination of pride and self preservation prevented him from doing so initially. Solarian had taken his position at Kael'thas' abode and speaking through her would practically guarantee that his account would be twisted.

Well, technically he intended to twist it anyway. Problem was, Solarian would ensure that it wasn't in his favour.

"Solarian..." said Hyperion slowly, straightening his posture further. "I see you're settling in nicely."

"_Settled," _corrected the silver-eyed astromancer, her voice sending a chill down Hyperion's spine. "I've taken upon your former duties without a hitch."

Hyperion grimaced. "How...good of you. It is touching to know that-..."

"Spare me your banal platitudes Hyperion. Just get to the point. Tell me whatever you have to tell me and then slink back to the underside of your rock."

The ruler of Fort Elron felt his left hand turning into a fist, as tight as his jaw was now. For someone who had been at ground zero at the point of the Sunwell's destruction and been stripped of most of her physical form, Solarian certainly had a sharp tongue. Or would, if it hadn't been vaporized.

"Charming as ever, milady. Very well. Tell Kael'thas that...wait a minute. Why am I talking to you?"

Ignoring his counterpart's look of surprise, Hyperion knew it was a valid question. His information was for the ruler of the blood elves in Outland and there was no reason why it had to pass through Solarian first. Yes, she had taken his position, but as far as the chain of command was concerned, they were both of equal rank, possessing the title of High Astromancer. It was well within his rights to speak to Kael'thas directly and not wanting his version of events twisted by this bitch, he proceeded to carry out his preferred mode of communication.

"Solarian, get me Prince Kael'thas," said Hyperion sharply. "I have information for him and I would prefer it be given to him directly."

Solarian chuckled. "Fair enough Hyperion. But you'd have to find him first."

"Don't play with me you strumpet!" the astromancer yelled. "I have every right to speak to Prince Sunstrider directly and-..."

"Yes, Hyperion, I know you do," interrupted the female blood elf, her voice as icy as the wastes of Northrend. "I have little respect for you, but yes, I accept that you have the right to speak to Kael'thas directly. However, I have no idea where he is right now and-..."

"Solarian, you lying piece of-..."

"I'm not lying Hyperion. If I knew where our ruler was, I would be on my way to get him to ensure I stop wasting my time talking to the likes of you."

Hyperion didn't have an answer to that.

To say the situation was problematic for the astromancer would have been an understatement. He didn't like Solarian, but could tell that she was telling the truth here. And with the truth that Kael'thas was indeed nowhere to be found, this put him in a precarious situation. A rock and a hard place, so to speak.

_What do I do now? Give Solarian my report now and have her twist it? Or wait for Kael'thas to return and be berated for delaying information?_

Neither choice was particularly appealing. And while Hyperion had the verbal capacity to keep the conversation going, his mental capacity was having trouble capitalizing on the extra time.

"Kael'thas is...gone?" asked the astromancer clumsily. "As in, gone from Tempest Keep?"

Solarian sighed. "Yes, Hyperion, that's what I said. Last I saw him a few hours ago he was with me in the Eye-tired, but otherwise fine. Next thing I know, he's disappeared from Tempest Keep entirely with no indication as to where he is or when he'll be back. So either give me the information you have so I can pass it on to him when he returns, or simply wait for him to call you."

It was almost flattering, how Solarian was leaving the choice in Hyperion's hands. But with neither choice particularly appealing, the astromancer could have done without it. As such, when he heard a knocking on his throne room door, he relished at the prospect. Fate had made a choice for him and he welcomed it.

"I'll speak to Kael'thas directly, thank you," said Hyperion to his fellow astromancer, rising from his throne. "It appears that he has come to see me personally."

And with that, he cut the link, ignoring Solarian's exclamations. Let her sit in trepidation. He had bigger fish to fry.

Approaching the chamber door, Hyperion had no doubt as to whom it was. Kael'thas' disappearance coincided with the escape of the high elf (well, now blood elf, but that was academic really) and by extension, his failure to capture her. How the Sunstrider prince knew of such things was beyond him, but Hyperion didn't care. All that mattered was that his superior was here-no doubt to reprimand him, but in a position where he would have to rely on Hyperion's word before any other information was leaked.

"Alright, I'm coming..." sighed the astromancer, unfastening the latch as the knocking became even louder. "Honestly Kael'thas, even you must understand agh!"

The blood elf didn't finish that sentence. Being grabbed by the neck tended to make talking difficult.

"We have much to discuss, little elf..." snarled the visitor, carrying the gasping astromancer to his throne with a clawed hand. "And you can start by getting my name right."

Landing on his throne, Hyperion saw no reason to disobey.

After all, one didn't toy around with those even higher than Kael'thas Sunstrider...

* * *

Silence. Darkness. The place where dreams were born. Other clichés...

Indeed, this was the state that Shahra Dreamsinger found herself in. Not unconscious, but rather a state between sleep and the waking world that amounted to the same thing. A state where external stimulus was more likely to wake an individual than said individual waking on his or her own accord. Sight, sound, smell...anything would suffice.

"Hey...it looks like she's coming to."

In this case, sound.

_Wh...what happened? _Shahra wondered as the darkness began to be replaced by orange light. _Where am I?_

Common questions to be sure, but still valid ones. The last thing she remembered was heading through the Mountains of Flame while Ardelan battled a demon, a sudden pain at the back of her head bringing an end to that memory. And as her consciousness returned to her, she could feel that at least some of that pain remained.

_No question as to _when _I am I guess..._

Slowly but surely, pain gave way to her other senses, last among them sight. Still, considering that sight gave way to a certain draenei, perhaps that wasn't too great a loss.

"Shahra Dreamsinger..." said Ardelan slowly, his eyes shining with amusement and weariness. "A blood elf that lives up to the first part of her surname."

The sin'dorei smiled faintly, slowly rising to a sitting position. "At least I actually _have _a surname, Ardelan. And it's nice to see you too by the way."

Returning the elf's smile, the Vindicator helped Shahra get to a full sitting position, helping her overcome the pain that spread down her spine from her head. There probably wasn't any lasting damage, but it seemed that her body wanted her to rest, even if that meant creating so-called "ghost pain." And as Ardelan could apparently tell, it was quite effective.

Of course, the question as to how the draenei was faring was one that also bore consideration. He was standing tall, true, but with blood on both his skin and armour, not all of it his own, along with the armour being battered, it was safe to say the draenei had seen better days.

"I healed us as best I could. Unfortunately, that fight took a lot out of me, not to mention the crash..."

The draenei trailed off, his gaze lingering at something beyond the blood elf. Glancing backwards, Shahra could understand why. A pile of twisted metal tended to catch one's attention, not to mention the mangled form of a demon beneath it.

"Asteroth's been buried," murmured Ardelan, having noticed the body as well. "Nothing intricate, but I find the monument fitting."

It was clear that the draenei was talking to himself more than his ally, so Shahra maintained her silence. True, she _could _have pointed out that such thoughts were not becoming of a servant of the Light, not to mention that he should not be so dismissive of an individual based on their species, but in the end, there was no question that not doing so was the correct course of action. Like her, Ardelan and his people had their own demons. She should not be so quick to judge him in this case, especially in the case of an eredar.

_Not that there's much left to judge. It's amazing to think that Ardelan kept me and Leo alive when..._

Shahra knew that she had become more cordial to Ardelan in Fort Elron and given how the draenei had just aided her, the respect was probably mutual. However, as close as they were, she knew deep down that the bond still paled in comparison to the one she shared with-...

"Leo!" the former high elf exclaimed, trying to rise to her feet and failing miserably. "Leo! Is he alright? Did he survive? Has he regained consciousness? Has he-..."

"Yes, yes and yes," came a familiar voice. "And yes to the next question too. I think I've detected a pattern here."

Shahra looked to her right and then swung back again. Not out of her own desire of course-that was where the voice had come from and given how it was most certainly not Ardelan's, that only left one candidate. Unfortunately, her physical capabilities had yet to reach up with her emotional capacity, ensuring that she had to wait for a certain human to come over to her and stand by Ardelan before she could see him.

Still, looking up at a healthy Leonard Ragoa, that made the wait worthwhile.

"Seem to be waiting for you to wake up a lot..." said the human in good humour. "Kind of getting old really. I'm afraid I don't have the centuries you have."

Even if she was unaware of the comparatively short lifespan of humanity when compared to other races, Shahra wouldn't have found that claim surprising. Physically, Leo was in the best condition out of all of them-his armour was intact, his skin was whole and there was no blood on either. Yet he seemed...tired, somehow, drained even. Not from lack of sleep, not even from exhaustion like Ardelan. Rather it was from...something else.

"Leo, I..." said the blood elf slowly, trailing off for that very reason. Those two words were not what a quel'dorei had said, but rather a sin'dorei. And as far as walking off the precipice of friendship went, that was only the start of it.

Although glad to see her friend, Shahra still hadn't forgotten how strained that friendship had been. Not so much in their mutual hostility to each other at both Tempest Keep and Corru Point, but rather her outburst inside Fort Elron. There she was, helpless and in pain, and Leo had offered a helping hand, only for her to not only refuse his offered aid, but also abuse it. And what about what she had become, the green glow in her eyes apparent to the man in front of her? Ardelan would have likely given an honest account as to her actions in the human's absence, but even so, the fact remained that she had become something different from when they last saw each other. From Leo's point of view, she had either deceived him all along or had given into the temptation of fel magic, making her a hypocrite. And in a sense, she wasn't even sure if she knew the answer.

Luckily, Leo provided it for her.

"Shahra, you don't have to say anything," said the human kindly. "Ardelan told me of your actions in Fort Elron, how you risked life and limb to aid him and myself. I owe you my life Shahra, and I have no intent on disrespecting that."

The blood elf blinked, unable to believe what she was hearing. Still, it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

"But...but what about what I am?" she asked hesitantly. "I spent all that time in the Netherstorm distinguishing between high elf and blood elf, only to-..."

"Shahra, what does it matter what you are now? You're still a friend. To me, you're the same."

Once again the sin'dorei had trouble answering.

Weeks ago, back in Tempest Keep or the Netherstorm, Shahra knew that she would have flown into a rage at the assertion that it didn't matter as to whether she was quel'dorei or sin'dorei. But times had changed now. Leo saw her as a friend and individual. Maybe in the end, that was what mattered most.

Whether Ardelan thought so was another matter...

"Well now..." said the draenei, clearly uncomfortable. "This has been very...informative. But time is a limited commodity right now and even one such as I am aware of that."

Leo sighed. "Fair enough Ardelan. I suppose you know what you're doing."

"Damn straight Leonard."

Rising to her feet, Shahra realized that she wasn't frustrated at the draenei for ruining the...well, "moment" was probably the word to use, however reluctantly she used it. Right now, she wasn't sure she wanted to know where it might have headed.

_But where are we heading now? And come to think of it..._

"Um..." said the elf awkwardly. "This may sound strange, but could you tell me where we are?"

The looks that both human and draenei gave her made it clear that they did indeed consider it a strange question. Still, unlike previous circumstances, they kept any snide remarks in check.

"Hellfire Peninsula..." said Ardelan gravely, sweeping his hand out towards the plain. "The first point of call when entering Outland and the last point of call when leaving it."

Looking over the apparent peninsula, Shahra mused that if the region was indeed the first point of call for those heading through the Dark Portal from Azeroth, it did a good job of setting the standard for what one could expect from the remains of the orcs' homeworld. Barren, bereft of life, and a blood red hue matching the sky above...it was not quite as unnatural as the Netherstorm, but just as horrific, if not more so.

"Not much of a peninsula now of course," said Leo gravely, putting his hand on Shahra's shoulder. "Draenor lost its oceans when Ner'zhul tore the planet apart decades ago. Hell, we're lucky if we get rain here more than once a year."

Shahra raised an eyebrow. "You're aware of the climatic records for this region? How'd you come across them?"

"Because Leonard has even larger ears than you," said Ardelan, not even attempting to hide that he was answering the human's question for him. "That being said, I think we should keep moving. We should head south, bypass Thrallmar, and soon arrive at Honour Hold."

"Bypass Thrallmar?" Leo asked, abandoning his earlier lecture on geography. "Why? I know that you're not on good terms with-..."

Shahra let them drift off. She was willing to let the men argue. She had other thoughts on her mind.

_I'm nearly home. All I have to do is pass through the Dark Portal and I'll be back on Azeroth..._

A comforting thought. But not nearly as comforting as she'd expected. She was different from when she'd first entered Outland and while some of those differences were for the better, others weren't. True, she had regained her martial prowess that she had possessed when fighting with Finnall and co., but what of her appearance? Her supposed allegiance? What kind of welcome would she get in the Eastern Kingdoms? And what of Leo and Ardelan? What would they do?

"Leo, I've been on this world far longer than you and I know the topography much better, not to mention-..."

Well, apart from arguing.

And there was something else. Something that in the midst of dreams, voices and fighting for her life that she had forgotten. Because while she could not forget the voice that plagued her dreams until recently, there was still the second one. The voice that she had heard in Tempest Keep...

"_The only advice I can offer you is to travel south to Hellfire Peninsula. One of my kind will find you. Follow his advice. Trust in his wisdom."_

Looking around the barren landscape, Shahra highly doubted that she was likely to find...well, whatever or whoever the voice wanted her to find, provided it wasn't simply her mind playing tricks on her. But even now, so close to home, she wanted to know. After all that had happened, after all she had become, part of her earlier self still remained. A part that wanted her to keep asking questions...

"Hey...who are they?"

Suffice to say, the blood elf obliged.

Her eyes fixed on the incoming figures, Shahra didn't know whether Leo or Ardelan threw her any condescending looks nor did she care. Because at the speed that the approaching figures were approaching, her question was soon answered...sort of.

"Anar'alah..." _("By the light...") _the blood elf whispered. "What is this?"

Neither Ardelan nor Leo answered. Nor did the twelve riders in front of her. Maybe silence was a requisite for diversity. But then again, "diversity" hardly did the scene justice.

The riders on the far left...two male draenei, not so dissimilar from Ardelan, accompanying what the blood elf supposed was a female member of their race. Wavy brown hair, some kind of horns jutting outward, a lithe figure...and majestic. Very majestic. Majestic enough to prompt Ardelan to walk forward, kneel before her and address her as "Lady Ishanah."

Oh, and they wore purple tabards over their armour with a bronze symbol in the centre while riding mounts that looked like infant elephants. Go figure.

Moving on from the draenei, Shahra came across the three most welcome figures. Knights. Human knights clad in plate armour on similarly equipped horses, each with a blue tabard with golden trim, a winged insignia in the centre. Granted, their leader had his visor down and she knew there had been much tension between her kind and humanity in recent years, but that didn't matter. Of the four races arrayed in front of her, the humans were the most well known quantity.

Which was just as well. Because further right, things got...strange.

"Three travellers at the foot of the Mountains of Flame..." said the third apparent leader. "Intriguing..."

The comment was not addressed to anyone in particular, but Shahra knew that if it had been addressed towards her, she probably wouldn't have answered. She had little to say to blood elves, even if they were riding side by side with humans.

_But is that right? I'm a blood elf too now..._

A pertinent point to be sure. And Shahra had to admit, these elves were different from those of the Illidari. Each mounted on a hawkstrider, there was no real physical difference, but still...they were different. More relaxed, more...friendly somehow and not only from their tabards of black and bronze. And with their leader, a silver haired, elderly sin'dorei giving Shahra a genuine smile, she felt compelled to return it.

The orcs were a different matter...

While their presence was surprising, the green skinned creatures' appearance was not. Each riding a wolf as large as a horse, each wearing a black tabard with blood red trim and a symbol that resembled the head of...well, some kind of creature, Shahra wasn't going to fault what passed for style in whatever 'culture' the brutes possessed. Indeed, if it wasn't for the fact that they were clearly not of the same type of orc as Tartarus and that their leader, a seven foot tall, black haired, brown eyed orc with one broken dismounting, she might have gone straight for her weapons.

_Or maybe Leo can do it for me._

Having completed her sweep of the riders arrayed before her, Shahra's gaze had returned to her own companions. And while Ardelan was clearly comfortable amongst his own kind, Leo was still at her side. With the orc slowly advancing on them and the human going out to meet him however, that was soon no longer the case.

"Captain Leonard Ragoa..." said the orc slowly, butchering the language of Common as he did so. "This is a surprise indeed."

"Aye, it is Gazgul. A surprise to be sure."

The blood elf had no idea as to how or why Leo was able to keep a straight face with a creature a foot taller than him, not to mention that the creature had called him by his full forename. The difference between "Leo" and "Leonard" meant little to her personally, but as her friend had made clear awhile ago, it made all the difference to him.

"Thought you were dead, human. Thought there might have been a shade of pink added to the red soil."

"Sorry Gaz. Better luck next time, eh?"

_What in the name of all that's holy? _Shahra wondered. _What is this?_

The individuals arrayed before her might have had an idea, but she wasn't sure whether it was prudent to ask them. The blood elves were watching with mild amusement, but with the draenei, humans and orcs observing the greetings with emotions ranging from mild contempt to outright disgust, it was clear that whatever was passing between Leo and the orc wasn't looked kindly upon, including the clenching of palms in some kind of warriors' embrace. Only the leader of the human riders kept his emotions in check and that was probably more due to his visor than anything else.

_What the hell is Leo doing? Shaking hands with an orc of all creatures? Bad enough that he called him by his full forename but...wait a minute..._

Shahra knew that she didn't have a mystery to solve this mystery, but she didn't need to anyway. Because remembering words back in the Netherstorm, how only close friends could call him "Leonard," two of them not human, factored in with the revelation that Ardelan was one of them...

_By the Sun...he's friends with an _orc_?!_

Watching the spectacle unfold, that certainly seemed to be the case.

To Shahra's surprise, the revelation didn't disgust her as much as she thought it might have. True, there was the revulsion that came from watching a civilized man consort with a being who had a very different view on what civilization entailed, but then again, wasn't the concept of civilization subjective in the end? Humans and orcs had been enemies ever since the beginning of the First War three decades ago, but logic dictated that that hatred had to end eventually. And watching Leo converse with the orc named Gazgul Bloodstone, she had to admit, it was...pleasant to see a friend of hers be involved in a process of reconciliation. Perhaps that was what came from changing from quel'dorei to sin'dorei and battling alongside a creature whose lineage stemmed to the race of eredar.

Whatever the reasons, the riders clearly had different views on the situation.

"Very amusing..." sniffed the draenei apparently called Ishanah. "It is good to see that your experiences have not diluted your...spirit."

Turning away from the orc, Leo looked up to the draenei. "You are correct, milady. I've made it back to Hellfire Peninsula, and yes, I've obtained that which I sought."

"Good..." said the female slowly, her gaze drifting from the human to the elf behind him. "I see that you haven't avoided taking prisoners either."

"She's not a prisoner, milady. Her name is Shahra Dreamsinger and if it wasn't for her, we probably wouldn't be here.  
Ishanah looked surprised, though whether this was due to the facts or that they had come from Ardelan was impossible to tell. It was clear to Shahra that this draenei was capable of concealing her emotions...mostly.

"Intriguing..." said the draenei eventually, withdrawing her gaze from Shahra to glance at the blood elves. "But perhaps hardly surprising nowadays. Desperate times call for desperate measures after all."

"Indeed," sneered one of the blood elves. "If it wasn't for the Scryers coming to this region, the Aldor wouldn't have dared follow us."

"Watch your tongue, traitor! The true servants of the naaru will carry out their will without the need for frauds or green skinned-..."

Shahra found herself drifting backwards, away from the scene. She could tell where this was going.

Whoever these groups were, it was clear that they had banded together out of necessity rather than from any true unity. Because with all four races shouting at the top of their voices, the concept of "unity" was seemingly anathema to them.

"Leo...what's going on?" Shahra asked timidly as a human and orc competed for who could insult whose mother in the most offensive way.

"Politics..." sighed the apparent captain, rubbing his forehead as he closed his eyes. "Hatred, irrationality...basic emotions that even I get caught up in sometimes."

"But...but you're not like that," said the blood elf softly as one of her own insulted the draenei (or "Aldor") about how they sucked up to someone called A'dal. "You don't let yourself get caught up in hate."

Leo chuckled. "You're a good person Shahra, but perhaps too forgiving. Cast your mind back to Tempest Keep and you may think differently."

Shahra did so but not for long. All in all, she didn't want to. And besides, the leader of the humans had other ideas.

"**Enough!" **he shouted, swivelling his horse around to meet the gaze of all those around him. "Ishanah, Voran'thel, Gazgul...get your men in line now!"

"Oh that's rich..." murmured one of the human knights. "Men...now we're applying that term to magic addicts, brutes and..."

"You can shut up too Lucius," snapped the head knight, bringing his gaze to Leo as he did so. "I will not tolerate the Sons of Lothar acting like children. Not now, especially in light of the news that Captain Ragoa bears us." He paused for a moment, still gazing at Leo, leaving Shahra to wonder who these "Sons of Lothar" were and why their name was apparently derived from Sir Anduin Lothar, a hero of the First and Second Wars. Eventually he spoke.

"It does my heart good to see you alive Leo. After the betrayal of the rangers of the Allerian-..."

"That's all over now," said Leo quickly, glancing at Shahra as he did "It's finished. I may not have got the information we sought the way I intended, but thanks to loose tongues at Tempest Keep, I found it out anyway. All that matters now is that we get to Honour Hold and prepare for our attack...providing that we intend to follow through with it."

The knight lifted his visor, revealing grey hair, grey eyes and a visage that made Shahra gasp. She had seen this man before. In the Valley of Heroes in Stormwind. A man that had left Azeroth with four other heroes twenty-three years ago.

_Impossible...he should be dead. They all died..._

"Oh we'll attack all right," declared the warrior, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Or my name isn't Danath Trollbane."


	21. The Art of Diplomacy

**Denial**

**Chapter 21: The Art of Diplomacy**

"So let me get this straight...you just _happened _to hear your captors mention the location of the one that we seek?"

"Pretty much. Seems that some blood elves have mouths as large as their ears."

Scattered laughter rang through the interior of the keep of Honor Hold at Leo's mediocre joke. Human, blood elf, draenei and orc sitting at the same table. The Sons of Lothar, Scryers, Aldor and forces of Thrallmar, united in a common cause.

And, as Ardelan knew, demonstrating a miracle.

_They're actually laughing at a joke like that? _the draenei wondered._ Maybe things are more desperate than I thought._

Perhaps that was why Leo had made it. Because standing in front of those seated awkwardly, it was possible that he had come to the same conclusion as Ardelan, that this tenuous alliance intended to strike at the Illidari was barely holding. And if cheap jibes were all that could save this pact, so be it.

"Very interesting captain," said Ishanah icily, choosing to be the one to break the jubilation. "An account that I'm sure our..." she glanced at Voran'thel with barely concealed contempt, "allies might take heed of. However, the information itself...I take it that this is what was uttered?"

Leo nodded. "Indeed milady. As we have long suspected, fel orcs are being created through artificial means at Hellfire Citadel. And the pit lord Magtheridon is the means to that end."

Hushed whispers ran through those present at the table. Not that many were seated of course, coming to a grand total of five, but the quantity of individuals did not reflect the quantity of sound. Indeed, had Ardelan been sitting among them, he probably would have been conversing with them.

_Maybe that's just as much part of the reason why Leo didn't tell me before we reached Hellfire Peninsula. He wanted to be spared conversations like this..._

"Magtheridon? Who's Magtheridon?"

_...and like this._

The stone walls of the keep generated an echo, though Shahra's whispered question to the draenei standing next to her managed to avoid becoming part of the drone generated by the revelation of Leo's announcement. As such, the Vindicator couldn't pretend not to have heard her.

"Magtheridon..." said Ardelan slowly. "A long story and one that we're all familiar with. The draenei especially..."

"You don't have to tell me," said the blood elf hastily. "Whatever Leo's talking about, it's clear that it's significant."

_You don't know how right you are... _thought Ardelan to himself. _Months of wondering as to how the Illidari were getting so many fel orcs from Hellfire Citadel, only now for the truth to be revealed..._

The draenei could have left it there. The sin'dorei at least understood the scale of the revelation that her human friend had presented and could therefore be relied on to keep quiet. Still, she'd been trusted enough to be admitted alongside Ardelan into the keep, much to the draenei's surprise and he supposed he should show her the same courtesy.

"Leo's information is indeed significant..." whispered the draenei eventually. "Significant in that after five years, we learn not only the origin of the fel orcs, but also that Magtheridon is still alive. The pit lord came to rule Outland not long after the destruction of Draenor, his iron fisted rule only broken by the Illidari. Illidan took his place and we assumed that he did away with Magtheridon like any tyrant would."

Shahra blinked. "So the Illidari...we owe them a debt then?"

Ardelan snorted. "If you consider yourself owing a criminal for killing your abusive father, then yes, we owe Illidan. However, as so often is the case in history, one tyrant was merely replaced by another."

"I see..." said the blood elf slowly. "But how are they using Magtheridon to create fel orcs?"

Ardelan didn't know.

Nor did those assembled...

"I think we ought to remain focussed here," resonated the voice of Danath Trollbane, still hale despite his age. "I see no reason to doubt the validity of Captain Ragoa's information. However, the question still remains as to _how _the Illidari are using Magtheridon to create monsters."

The force commander's words were directed towards his co-commanders, but Leo was also an intended recipient of the information. And for his part, the man provided his own.

"I can't say for sure..." said the captain slowly. "However, Magtheridon is kept in a wing of the fortress known as the Blood Furnace. And considering that it is apparently his very blood combined with fel magic that is creating them...well, I suppose it is fair to say that his prison is aptly named."

Once again discussion rippled throughout those assembled. Once again, Ardelan couldn't blame them and was not surprised at their reaction, especially since it was one he shared. Shahra's words however, were somewhat perplexing however...

"Blood Furnace...fel orcs...Tartarus said...no, it couldn't be..."

"Shahra?" asked the draenei curiously. "Are you alright?"

The elf glanced back at the Vindicator. "I'm fine..." she said slowly. "A-ok."

Ardelan simply grunted. He knew a liar when he saw one. And if it wasn't for the greater picture, he might have dug around for the truth. After all, while everyone kept secrets, that the secret of Magtheridon's survival had come to light begged attention.

Clearly the leaders thought likewise.

"We can't let this go on," said Voran'thel firmly. "We all know what the Illidari are capable of."

"You do at least..."

"Which is why I, for one, see no reason to abandon our alliance," continued the blood elf, ignoring Ishanah's outburst. "Whatever our differences, it is fair to say that this threat demands our united attention. Anything less would be futile."

General consensus rippled around the table, much to Ardelan's satisfaction. He was not omnipotent, but having barely escaped Fort Elron with his life, not to mention that he couldn't have done it without help, it was fair to say that any assault on Hellfire Citadel would have to work on a similar principle, though on a far grander scale.

"By the Light, I deserve a promotion for this..." Leo whispered, coming to stand by the draenei as Dannath unfurled a map of the land around Hellfire Citadel.

"Then I'm sure the Light will grant you one," murmured Ardelan sarcastically. "Or the naaru. Maybe you can visit Shattrath City after all this has ended."

"_If _it ends."

Looking at the battle plan that had been devised, the draenei supposed that the captain had a point. It was clear that much thought had gone into the possibility of an assault on the fortress, but even for one such as himself, it seemed rather simple. The Sons of Lothar would attack from the east alongside the Aldor, the Scryers from the south and the orcs of Thrallmar from the west. However, listening to the banter between those assembled, he began to understand.

_Unity. It's all about unity._

Or rather _disunity_. Because with human, orc, blood elf and draenei at each other's throats to various degrees, racially segregating the attacking forces seemed to be the only hope for a successful assault.

"This is never going to work..." Leo murmured as Gazgul explained that he could guarantee only limited support due to the reluctance of his superior, Nazgrel, to commit to the attack. "Illidan toppled Magtheridon, but only with a united force at his back. Why should we follow likewise?"

"You were the one who volunteered to retrieve the information," pointed out Ardelan.

"True, but that was at the cost of...well, you know..."

The Vindicator nodded in quiet understanding. Yes, he did know, but that wasn't the reason why the human hadn't mentioned it. Shahra might have been focussed on the maps before them, if only as a passive observer, but those big ears were still capable of picking up information that wasn't directed to her.

_But will that ever change?_

Witnessing the unease between four of the five seated before him, Ardelan knew that Leo certainly had a case to comment on lack of unity. From bluntly admitting his mistrust of the former high elf to him at Corru Point to...well, whatever status quo now existed, the captain had made quick progress for one who'd had a previous extension of trust butchered. But whether he'd be willing to inform Shahra as to the technicalities of that event was something that the Vindicator couldn't comment on. True, Leo had been willing to keep information as to his allegiance and possessed information secret, but that was from a utilitarian sense as much as anything else. The last secret he was keeping from Shahra was something that stemmed from...well, certainly not from any objective sense at least. But then again Shahra had kept secrets too, hadn't she? Like what she was doing in Outland for starters.

"It's settled then," declared Danath, shattering Ardelan's thoughts and ignoring the objections of those around him. "We attack Hellfire Citadel in the morn with no deviations to our current plan. The sooner we-..."

"Trollbane, this is too soon," interrupted Voran'thel. "Hellfire Citadel is-..."

"A threat to us all and will therefore be dealt with!" shouted the human. "I've dwelt in this wasteland for over two decades, always within the shadow of that Light-forsaken fortress. Magtheridon wasn't toppled through timidity, as I'm sure you know, _elf_. The Betrayer may be mad, but we can learn by his example. Only this time, we finish what he started and render Magtheridon useless, if not dead. Now are you with me? Or am I addressing a bunch of cowards?"

With a barrage of claims that this wasn't the case, Danath appeared satisfied.

So did Leo for that matter.

"Twenty-three years and he hasn't lost his touch..." the captain chuckled, watching as the commanders began to file out. "Maybe we can pull this off after all."

"I'll say..." murmured Shahra. "By the Sunwell, I'd say he deserves two monuments in the Valley of Heroes."

"Maybe..." said Leo slowly. "Still, I wouldn't dwell on that. Danath is worthy of our respect, so do all his co-commanders."

"What, like Alleria and Turalyon?" asked the blood elf. "What happened to them anyway?"

"That is a long story Miss Dreamsinger. However, while I would be able to enlighten you, I was wondering if you might tell me a story in turn?"

Three heads spun to the source of the voice and it was only due to the fact that the commanders had exited the room that more heads didn't do likewise. The fifth member of the council had broken his silence...

The archmage Khadgar to be specific.

* * *

"Khadgar. You're Khadgar..."

"Yes, indeed I am. And if you don't mind-..."

"I...I don't believe this! How didn't I see this until now?! You...well, you're the pinnacle of a mage! A hero of Azeroth! One of the leaders of the Alliance Expedition to Draenor all those years ago and here I am, standing before you!"

"Yes, you are. Though feel free to have a seat."

And with that, the blood elf took it.

A leader might have been satisfied that a subject obeyed his or her orders, for they reaffirmed the authority the leader possessed. However, despite what some thought, Khadgar wasn't a leader, at least in his own mind. True, he was glad that the elf in front of him obeyed his orders and took a seat, but not from the fact that she'd followed his suggestion. Rather, it had brought her down to an equal level. Here, they could be seated as equals.

_Shame she doesn't think so._

Even now, sitting down, the sin'dorei was staring at him in what bordered on reverence. Unfortunately...

"You don't have to stare at me like that Shahra," said the mage.

"Oh, um, yes..." stammered the elf. "Of course..."

Noticing that the sin'dorei's stare didn't change after a few seconds, Khadgar wrote it off as a lost cause. When one defeated the last Guardian of Tirisfal alongside Anduin Lothar in order to banish the spirit of Sargeras, aging roughly fifty years in the process and going on to fight in the Second War and destroying the Dark Portal at the end of it...well, he supposed it was the natural order of things that he'd be treated as a hero. And after repeating his actions by sealing the portal on Draenor, sparing Azeroth from the same fate as the red world and getting a statue of him in Stormwind for his efforts...well, suffice to say that the archmage would be remembered for quite awhile.

Still, Khadgar didn't feel like a hero. He hadn't spotted Medivh's true nature until it was too late. He hadn't stopped Garona from assassinating King Llane, essentially sealing victory for the Horde in the First War. And while he'd accomplished much in his life, albiet one that had been cut short by the Magnus' powers, he didn't feel like an individual that should be immortalized in stone. He did what he had to do and that was that. And besides, associated with the naaru and spending much of his time in Shattrath trying to mend the wounds between different factions, having a statue of him in Stormwind seemed counterproductive.

_Well, no need to dwell on that. Best to stick with the here and now. Maybe I should act like a leader, even if I don't feel like one._

"So tell me Shahra," said the mage slowly. "Do you know why you are here?"

The blood elf shook her head, her initial awe having been replaced by wariness.

"Care to guess?"

The sin'dorei swallowed before answering. "Well...if I had to guess, I'd say an interrogation. I mean, no-one else is here. Not even Leo or Ardelan."

"Would you want them here?"

The blood elf raised an eyebrow. "You're saying I can?"

"Just answer the question."

Shahra looked uneasy. So uneasy that she didn't answer, prompting a sigh from the mage. With his snow-white hair and dark eyes that belonged to someone who would have been in his forties, he supposed he could look quite intimidating. And while the powers of the arcane were a source of inspiration to some, that same wonder could easily turn into a source of dread or in the case of the Order of the Silver Hand, hatred.

"Shahra, I can understand your unease," said Khadgar gently. "I can only guess as to the extent of your travels from the Netherstorm and even after Captain Ragoa is thoroughly debriefed, I suspect that holes will still exist. I can only guess at the bonds of trust that have been formed between you and your friends. However, I must ask you to be at ease here. Independence is not to be shunned just for the sake of friendship."

The blood elf nodded slowly. "I see. So what you're saying is that while I'm free to maintain my friendship with them, I should also retain my right to privacy?"

Khadgar shifted his right leg uneasily. Yes, what the girl had said was true, but his own words were another story. He'd forged friendships, true, but after seeing what such bonds could bring, how Llane's friendship with Medivh had blinded him to the truth and how the same friendship Lothar possessed broke the warrior's heart when he struck down his friend...well, it had made Khadgar wary to say the least. Still, he knew that there was no reason that he had to force that belief onto Shahra or anyone else.

_I guess there's only one path left._

"I'll be honest with you Shahra," said the mage candidly. "People are uneasy. Leo and Ardelan appear to have faith in you, but there are many others whose faith is somewhat...lacking."

The blood elf nodded sadly. "I...I understand," she said slowly, her gaze failing to meet that of the mage. "And are you one of those people?"

Khadgar smiled faintly. "No Shahra, I'm not. Or at least, not yet. I could follow the example your friends have set or take the side of those wanting you thoroughly interrogated. However, for your sake and the sake of those who want to see Outland free, I decided to talk to you by myself. Free from those who could swing my opinion."

The elf's gaze once again met Khadgar's, her visage now conveying a sense of understanding. "I see...that's why you had Leo and Ardelan leave the room."

"True, though I also wanted Danath and the rest gone. Their hearts are in the right place, but they bicker so much, I have to wonder if their brains are."

Shahra chuckled, prompting Khadgar to do likewise. It had been a long time since he'd heard such honest laughter and he was compelled to follow suit.

Then again, he suspected that he wouldn't be following Shahra in many other things. Looking at the girl in front of him-average build, average features, average...well, everything, it was obvious that she wasn't a leader, at least on the same scale that those in Stormwind believed him to be. But even so, it made him uneasy. He didn't pride himself on his ability to read people given his experience with Medivh, but even so, he knew enough to understand that most, if not all individuals could be defined by an aspect of their personality in some way. But something else defined the blood elf in front of him. Somehow, he felt that she was being defined by now _who _she was, but _what _she was. An enigma. And that made him more uneasy than the notion of her being a spy for the Illidari.

Which, he had to admit, seemed pretty ridiculous given the accounts Leo and Ardelan had gave. But still...

"Tell me Shahra..." said the mage eventually, deciding to cut to the chase. "Do you know what the word _Khadgar _means?"

"It means something?" asked the blood elf curiously. "I thought it was just a name."

"Just a name?" Khadgar chuckled. "Shahra, there is no such thing as _just _a name. They are put of what defines us. Surely you of all people can appreciate that."

It was now the elf's turn to be uncomfortable, failing to meet the human's gaze and brushing away a strand of hair as if to provide an excuse. Khadgar could tell that he'd touched a nerve, though how and why was beyond even one such as him.

"I...dream, I guess..." said Shahra eventually. "More than I'd like to at times..."

"I know the feeling," said the mage, deciding not to dwell on the issue. "But to answer your question, the word _Khadgar _is Dwarven, literally translated as _trust_ in Common. So while I am perhaps obliged to live up to my namesake and extend my trust to you, I ask in return that you do likewise. So when I ask you what you want to do, I hope that you answer truthfully. Can you do that?"

Something flashed in the blood elf's eyes that Khadgar could tell wasn't from magic, arcane or otherwise. A case of touching a nerve again? Or perhaps something as simple as déjà vu. Certainly he couldn't have expected Captain Ragoa to trust the girl completely when they first met, let alone Ardelan. Still, with the sin'dorei answering that she could indeed answer truthfully, said answer being her desire to return to Azeroth, Khadgar supposed he had little to worry about.

"So that's it then?" asked the mage. "Return to the world which you departed?"

Shahra nodded solemnly. "Yes. There is nothing in Outland for me. It was a mistake to come in the first place. But still..."

Khadgar leant forward curiously. He was about to ask why she had come to Outland in the first place, but it seemed wise to not interrupt the girl now. And unlike assessments he had made in the past, it turned out to be the right one.

"Truth be told, I don't think there's much left for me on Azeroth either," said Shahra gravely, seemingly talking to herself as much as the human in front of her. "I've become a sin'dorei and the only refuge for me in that world would be with those who seek to follow Prince Kael'thas. And besides, with this attack coming up, I...well, I..."

"Can't turn your back on your friends?"

The blood elf didn't say anything but simply nodded. Still, that was enough for Khadgar. Actions often spoke louder than words and not just in attacks on fortresses housing a pit lord. And although the girl in front of him didn't exactly strike him as a warrior, that she had survived this long spoke for itself.

The language was another question however...

Khadgar could tell that Shahra was being honest with him. And informing her of the Legion Front, a concentration of demons that dwelled near the Dark Portal on the side of Outland, posing a threat to all those who walked the so-called "Path of Glory," he was being honest too...to an extent. Outliers still existed, such as his doubts as to whether the elf was all she amounted to be. Going from helpless damsel to someone who fought their way through fel orcs and astromancers in a few weeks? Certainly rare to say the least and if he had to say more, not entirely natural. In more ways than one...

"I think a place can be found for you in the Scryers..." said Khadgar eventually. "You won't be fighting alongside Leo or Ardelan directly, but you'll certainly be aiding them indirectly, not to mention our alliance as a whole."

"The Alliance?" the blood elf asked curiously. "But I thought...well, you know, what with orcs and-..."

"Not _the _Alliance Shahra, _an _alliance," interrupted Khadgar, irritation coursing through him alongside arcane magic. "There is more to life than the petty factionalism maintained by the two main powers of Azeroth and Outland is no exception. Either we stand together or we fall divided. There is no alternative."

"And you think we _will _stand?" asked the blood elf, matching the mage's irritation. "It took me awhile to earn the trust of my friends. And to be honest, I couldn't see that trust matched by those at the meeting a few minutes ago."

Khadgar smiled. He knew a gauntlet wrapped in silk when he saw one.

"An astute deduction Shahra. Still, as long as there is a common enemy, I am willing to give our alliance the benefit of the doubt. Prejudice and hatred are not to be embraced, but can still be useful tools when those who embrace them are facing in the right direction. I think you of all people can understand that."

Nodding silently, the elf's gauntlet was withdrawn. However, the silk remained, now cast as a veil. One that the sin'dorei maintained when interrupting Khadgar's movement to exit the keep.

"Milord, I have to ask you something," said Shahra timidly. "Something that I feel only a mage could answer."

Standing at the door, Khadgar nodded, waiting for the veil to be lifted. He knew this was coming and was surprised it hadn't come sooner. Either the girl possessed great restraint, or lacked the fiery spirit that her friends had described.

"What's happening to me?" Shahra asked, her voice down to a whisper. "I've maintained abstinence from abuse of magic ever since the destruction of the Sunwell, yet find myself a sin'dorei."

"Yes, I can see that," said Khadgar calmly. "I've gotten quite used to their presence ever since Voran'thel arrived."

"But the Scryers all chose their path!" Shahra exclaimed. "What about me?! I didn't ask for this! Something happened to me Khadgar. Something I can't explain. And whatever I may have become, I still have the same curiosity I had as a quel'dorei! I...I have to know..."

Khadgar sighed. True, he knew this was coming, hence why his mind had not been entirely in sync with his words over the past few minutes. But having studied the elf in detail, he had only one answer.

"Shahra, I'm afraid I can't help you," said the mage gravely. "There is no sense of magic about you, whether it be arcane or fel. It's like...it's like your magic is passive, as if you've become something...different. Or maybe you always were."

"What?!" Shahra exclaimed. "But...but I was-..."

"A high elf, yes," interrupted Khadgar. "But I can tell that doesn't bother you so much, that your main concern is how your existence defines _who _you are as opposed to _what_. And with that being said, my only piece of advice to you is to follow that train of thought. You may be a sin'dorei Shahra Dreamsinger, even without the magic to back it up, but I for one believes that matters little."

"That's easy for you to say..." murmured Shahra sullenly. "You're a human...what would you know of this kind of divide?"

"More than you know Shahra. I've served alongside members of more races you can imagine. And in the end of all things, the divide between us means little."

Khadgar smirked, seeing the look of surprise, then indignation, then understanding that crossed the elf's face faster than a gnome worked with a spanner. True, he was quoting the naaru A'dal, but he believed the being's words fully. Tolerance and understanding were to be embraced, not shunned for the sake of pride. And with tears of gratitude running down the blood elf's face, it appeared that the girl understood as well. And asking timidly for one last favour, specifically if there was a place where she could have a bath, further affirmation was sent Khadgar's way.

As it was only now that the mage realized that the girl smelt worse than a gnoll, he was only too happy to grant it.

* * *

On Azeroth, there was a process called the water cycle.

It was something that practically all members of civilized species were aware of in at least one point of their lives, provided that they had the benefit of an education. Whether they retained knowledge of the movement of water through their world was another matter. Evaporation, condensation, precipitation, transpiration...all terms that corresponded to a particular process that unless you were into hydrology, was completely useless.

Of course, there was nothing wrong with general knowledge. So while Shahra Dreamsinger had no particular desire to engage in the study of water, nor could remember the lessons she'd once had in regards to bonded hydrogen and oxygen, she was grateful for the process just the same. Because while Outland was a desolate piece of rock that had no oceans or ice caps to speak of and the water in its atmosphere and surface freshwater equally inconsequential, it still had a reasonably high level of groundwater. Groundwater that when combined with heat and a wooden tub in a room of the Honor Hold Inn, was pure bliss.

_And some people on Azeroth have an aversion to using water from sources other than streams and lakes..._thought the blood elf dreamily as she sunk into the tub, the water up to her neck. _They don't know what they're missing._

Then again, it wasn't as if Azeroth was particularly lacking in surface water, so relying on aquifers and similar sources wasn't as great a necessity as it was in Outland. But on the red world of the orcs, surface water nowadays could only be found in abundance in the realms called Zangarmarsh and to a lesser extent, Terrokar Forest. Out in Hellfire Peninsula, an area once surrounded by ocean, water had to be gained through toil and soil. Or rather rock, since the soil was about as barren as that of the Blasted Lands, if not more so.

_Yet they let me use some of that water for myself..._thought the elf to herself. _Wonder what I did to deserve it?_

Rising slightly from the tub and leaning her arm against the wooden rim, Shahra had an idea. She'd long suspected that she'd stunk to beyond the sky after weeks of not bathing and given the reaction of the innkeeper, Sid Limbardi as she'd entered, that was probably the case. Still, whether through orders of his superiors, general kindness or a plain desire to remove himself from the smell of sweat, blood and old-fashioned body odour, he'd set about getting water for the sin'dorei to use, not to mention a room of her own.

Letting out a sigh of ecstasy, Shahra once again sank down into the water. She felt guilty about the treatment she'd received, especially considering the number of warriors milling about outside, braving the cold night in preparation for the bloodshed morning would bring. Still, she was a sin'dorei now and was not obliged to abstain from pleasures. And besides, if there was an inn in Outland for whatever reason, she supposed she should use it. After all, unlike the Sons of Lothar, she _was _technically a visitor.

_And other things..._

Shahra let out another sigh, this time of unease. She knew that she couldn't use what she was as an excuse for being lethargic. Not after seeing the Scryers. Not after talking with Khadgar, discovering that not even one of the greatest mages of all time couldn't tell what had caused the transition from quel'dorei to sin'dorei. It was funny, how as a high elf she'd clung to what she was, yet upon falling from that status quo, settled into a mindset that allowed for _who _she was. But now, looking upon a racially diverse alliance whose unity was driven only by common need...she wasn't sure she knew who she was. In the light of her decision to join the Scryers for the attack tomorrow, it appeared that _what_ she was was all she had left.

_And that's what scares you isn't it? _asked a voice in the blood elf's mind that she knew was entirely her own. _You've become something you once despised, yet now embrace because you have no other choice. But is it the right thing to do?_

_Of course it is, _Shahra shot back mentally. _They're attacking Hellfire Citadel and the least I can do is help them. Besides, it'll be impossible to get through the Legion Front on my own._

_True. But what of it? Returning to Azeroth brings you...what? You'd be more out of place there than you were before you entered Outland. Face it-you're only doing this because you have no idea what else to do._

The blood elf shivered, and not only because the water was getting cold. It wasn't the voice that she'd heard in her dreams talking to her, but it was chilling nonetheless. Not because it spoke the truth, but because she didn't know what the truth was anymore. Yes, she felt indebted to Ardelan and Leo, but as for the likes of the Sons of Lothar and their allies...what did she owe them? General gratitude, true, but nowhere did common morality dictate that she had to point her life on the line for them. She'd be perfectly within her rights to stay at Honor Hold, wait for the battle to end, then head off for the Dark Portal with an escort.

_Perhaps. But could you live with that?_

Shahra didn't know. And even if she could, returning home no longer had the same appeal it once had. Outland was Hell, but she'd made two close friends here that were far more than what 'home' could offer. And given what she'd become and in light that others of her kind weren't slaves to fel magic, maybe the Scryers could provide that. Certainly Voran'thel had greeted her more warmly than many others had.

_Or maybe you want the easy way out. Maybe you want to fight...and die._

"No!" she shouted, rising from the water and sending it splashing everywhere. Including the door, from which there was a soft knocking.

"You ok lass?" came the voice of a dwarf she knew only as Greyn. "Thought I heard you shout."

"I...I'm fine," lied the blood elf, hoping for reasons beyond basic modesty that the dwarf would take her word for it and not open the door. "You have nothing to worry about."

"Aye...alright then."

Not for the first time that night, the sin'dorei let out a sigh of relief, silently thanking the Light and Sun as she did so. She wasn't in the mood to confide her feelings to anyone right now, especially while naked and dripping with water. With that in mind, she stepped out of the tub and reached for a pair of towels, one to wrap around herself while using another to do the drying. Tomorrow, hundreds of warriors would be pooling their talents to make a big splash and the elf knew that soaking in her own misery wasn't going to help matters.

_Maybe this is why they gave me the bath, _Shahra thought to herself, glancing back at the water as she ran the towel through her hair. _They wanted to make me feel guilty so I'd be compelled to help them._

It was an uncharitable thought and one the former high elf knew was unlikely. Having watched the leaders of the factions bicker, none of them had struck Shahra as being particularly manipulative and while Khadgar was an exception to the former trait, he didn't seem to be an exception to the latter one. And besides, she knew that she wasn't a great warrior, even after regaining some of the skill she'd had with Finnall. She couldn't make a great difference in the battle to come.

_Then again, it's not as if I can make much of a difference anywhere else._

Slowly, the elf put on the violet robe that the draenei tailor Hama had provided her. While the woman hadn't seemed that eager to part with quality clothing, she clearly hadn't been skimpy either, the fabric as soft and naturally fitting as the armour of her friends. And it was warm too, a factor that in light of her aquatic musing, Shahra appreciated the most of all.

_Guess the service here isn't so bad after all, _thought the blood elf to herself, smiling faintly as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She wasn't in the best of spirits, but even so, fine clothing was fine clothing and that it made her look like a proper lady wasn't to be sniffed at either.

_Wonder what Leo would say if he saw me like this? _wondered the blood elf as she ran a hand through her hair, deciding not to go back to her old ponytail. Her golden hair was long but not bound up, presented less of a target for those seeking to grab it. And while Shahra didn't think of herself as particularly vain, she had to admit, looking at herself dressed like this and smelling like a rose...well, she appreciated it to say the least.

That's when the fall came.

For pride, there was pain. Pain in the stomach to be exact, a type that forced the blood elf to kneel forward onto the bench below the mirror, wondering what was happening. Beginning to cough up blood, she quickly found out.

_It's happening again... _the sin'dorei thought to herself as dark red material splattered onto the wood in front of her. _Just like in Fort Elron._

Technically that wasn't entirely correct. The pain was there, true, but the rage was completely absent. But rising from the episode to gaze at the mirror, Shahra wished it was. Because as wrong as her anger at Leo had been back then, despair wasn't pleasant either. For by looking at her reflection, she saw the truth.

"What does it matter what I look like?" the blood elf whispered. "I'm still a wolf in sheep's clothing."

The glow in her eyes was the only response the mirror provided. A green glow.

Always green.

* * *

_By the Light, if I'm going to die tomorrow, I'm going to take these ignoramuses with me._

A harsh assessment and as Leonard Ragoa suspected, not entirely accurate. Not only were the chances of the captain fighting directly alongside the adventurers in the coming battle somewhat slim given the size of Hellfire Citadel, but the chances of him dying tomorrow were minute compared to the chances of dying today. It was past midnight and although the dusty sky didn't help matters, the human guessed that sunrise wasn't far off. Such was the result of dwelling on the shattered world for more than two decades.

_Well, that grants me some certainty. At least I'm destined to have resided here longer than these numbskulls._

Exactly how Outland attracted adventurers was beyond Leo and that some of these adventurers were barely adults were even more mystifying. The teenage village hicks he'd tried to play cards with were decent enough, but they were still just that-teenage hicks who not only didn't know how to play anything apart from go-fish, but were just as likely to die on their own swords as the enemies. Hell, at least Ardelan was an intelligent being, even if he had yet to familiarize himself with Azerothian games. And after all, the draenei had an excuse for being in Outland too.

_Well, you were just like them once..._

Pacing around the courtyard of Honor Hold, Leo supposed that it was natural to look back in these circumstances. Yes, he _had _once been a scrawny, wet behind the ears recruit, but that was in the outbreak of the Second War, not in a new world wrapped in conflict that was cold rather than hot. His lot in life then was to fight and hopefully not die, not journey across the land in a style reserved for the brave, the heroic and in some cases, idiots.

_So what category do you fall into then?_

Sighing, Leo realized that he didn't know. He didn't know anymore than what Shahra seemingly did, considering that she'd just emerged from the inn and proceeded to wander around in a fashion akin to himself. Still, he walked over to her. It would be good to have someone intelligent to talk to and if he was lucky, perhaps get some answers. An answer as to which category _she _fell into...

"Shahra..." he said slowly, approaching the blood elf as he did so. "You're up late..."

It was an awkward way to start a conversation, but given the girl's slow reaction to his words, that was probably a moot point.

"It'll be a big day," answered the sin'dorei eventually. "I guess it's natural."

"Well, yeah I guess. As some people say, the wait before a battle is the worst part of all."

It was a moronic statement, but it at least achieved a response from Shahra beyond that of cryptic sentences.

"The worst part?" she asked curiously. "What about the battle itself?"

Leo smiled faintly. "Yeah...that sucks too."

"Yes...well, I guess I'll find out, right?"

To that, Leo had no answer. True, he knew that Shahra intended to fight alongside the Scryers in the assault on Hellfire Citadel-Khadgar had seen fit to tell him _that _much at least in regards to his private meeting with his friend. Still, while the captain appreciated the mage's trust, appreciation of Shahra's actions were another matter.

_She's not part of this. Or, at least, she doesn't have to be part of this. The Path to Glory is dangerous, but she made it through the Blasted Lands to reach the portal on its Azerothian side, right? _

Noticing the steadily increasing amount of light being cast over the fortress, Leo knew that he didn't have all that much time to talk. By that criteria, he decided that he had no reason to doubt Shahra's account of reaching Outland-true, there were other methods, the portal in Dalaran being a prime example, but given that the city was surrounded by some kind of impenetrable dome right now, he didn't see Shahra being able to penetrate it. But the fact remained that she'd come to Outland and despite weeks of travelling together, he'd never found out why.

_Then again, it's not as if I've told her everything either. And maybe it's time that I did. After all, I-..._

"Leo, you alright?"

Blinking his eyes, and not only because of the increasing amount of light that cast an...illuminating view on the elf's robe, Leo was drawn back to reality.

"Hey, you all there?" asked Shahra curiously. "Looked like you were a mile away."

Leo sighed, deciding to bite the tip of the arrow. "Yeah, pretty much. Or rather however far it is to the Allerian Stronghold."

"Allerian Stronghold?" asked Shahra curiously. "What's that?"

Leo shivered, and not only because of his ever increasing distance from the fire the rookies were still seated around. There were many unpleasant memories in his life, most of them stemming from what began twenty-five years ago. But at a few weeks, this one was the freshest.

"It's a fortress named after Alleria Windrunner," said Leo gravely. "Located in Terrokar Forest southwest of here, it was founded when the Alliance sent its forces into Outland not long after the Second War. It's also where I was stationed before I set off to Tempest Keep."

"Leo, I-..."

"Shahra, please," interrupted the human, bringing his pacing to a complete stop and the blood elf following his actions as a result. "I haven't been completely honest with you and while I know that Ardelan's let slip a few times, he's correctly guessed that I wanted to tell you the truth when I was ready. And considering that I'll be fighting for my life in a matter of hours, I think now's the best time. Provided that you want to hear it that is..."

It was clear that the sin'dorei wasn't sure what to make of this, but she nodded anyway, much to the human's relief. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what to make of this either. It wasn't as if what had happened was a secret, but then again, he hadn't had to tell anyone. The only reason that Shahra didn't know was because she wasn't affiliated with the Sons of Lothar until a matter of hours ago. And thanks to...well, whatever reason, she was going to risk her life in much the same way the captain was going to.

_And maybe that's why you're doing it. Maybe you don't want that to happen. And maybe you think that acting like a bloody sinner will change her mind..._

Leo sighed. He knew the secret of Magtheridon's survival and yet here he was, not knowing a thing...

"When we met in Tempest Keep, I was...well, an asshole," began Leo awkwardly. "I treated you like dirt, I left you to fend for yourself and even after the dragon turtle, I didn't fully trust you."

"Leo, you don't have to apologise for that," said the blood elf softly. "That was ages ago. And besides, I was-..."

"Shahra, you don't get it," interrupted the captain. "It wasn't about you. It wasn't about blood elves, or high elves or...well, it was, but not how I presented it. I-..."

"Leo, is this going anywhere?" asked Shahra impatiently. "I mean, everyone's stressed right now, but babbling isn't going to do any good. Maybe you should-..."

"Shahra, I was at the Allerian Stronghold when I was ordered to head to the Netherstorm to investigate rumours of Magtheridon's survival!" Leo exclaimed. "That's what I never told you! I never told you I was a member of the Sons of Lothar, or that I travelled with high elves, or that upon our arrival, we were ambushed due to some quel'dorei having cast in their lot with the Illidari beforehand! I said nothing about how every high elf was given a choice of conversion or death and that for whatever reason, I was taken prisoner and dumped in a cell! The same cell that you were dumped into not long afterwards..."

Leo trailed off, unable to sustain his words any more. He didn't feel that there was anything else to say and even if there was, he wasn't sure if he had the energy to say it. He was tired, he was guilty and the lack of any verbal response from the blood elf in front of him indicated that she too had come to the same conclusion. The truth was out, all was said and done and all that was left was them to fight and hopefully not die over the next few hours.

Or at least that was what he thought until he felt the girl's hand on his shoulder as he tried to walk away...

"Leo..." she said softly, the tone of her voice anything but vindictive. "I never told you the truth either."

"Shahra, what are you-..."

"Why I came to Outland. How the only reason for me coming was to discover the truth. Whether the sin'dorei had truly established themselves here in addition to Quel'Thalas."

Leo still found himself unable to speak, though for slightly different reasons that the ones present a few seconds ago. Travelling to Outland out of curiosity didn't strike him as a particularly compelling reason, nor one that was truly worth keeping secret. On the other hand, if she'd told him back at Tempest Keep or even the plains of the Netherstorm, he would have probably passed it off as a flimsy excuse and Shahra as an Illidari spy. And besides, the girl had often gone on about curiosity being a part of being quel'dorei. In light of that trait, the former high elf's actions were understandable.

_And were mine? She had valid reasons for hiding the truth while I...well, I didn't._

Leo let out a weary sigh. He knew he'd have to break the ice eventually. He may as well get the beratement over with.

"I see," said the human slowly. "So I guess you found out the answer then."

Shahra shrugged. "I guess. Still, I found something far more important."

"Really?" asked Leo curiously, his depression temporarily giving way to curiosity. And with the heart-warming smile displayed on the elf's features, the transition became permanent. A transition that went beyond mere curiosity and into genuine joy. A transition that stemmed from one word...

"Friends."

* * *

_By the Light it's dark._

It was perhaps ironic that Shahra Dreamsinger was making an observation in the name of the Light in lieu of the lack of it, but as she stumbled through the top floor of the Honor Hold Inn, she was too tired to care. Most, if not all of its patrons were fast asleep, so it was only natural that only a few candles were left lit in its hallways. However, while this was beneficial for those who sought refuge from the waking world, it didn't do any favours for those still in it.

_So I'm in a minority. Big surprise there._

Narrowly avoiding some armour wedged halfway between a room and the hall (and a surprising amount of underclothing for some reason), Shahra knew that she shouldn't be so bitter. It was her own fault that she'd stayed up late-true, her state of mind wouldn't have allowed her to sleep well had she tried going to bed immediately after her bath, but even so, wandering around the courtyard aimlessly wasn't a particularly constructive use of time. Apart from her conversation with Leo, she'd done...nothing. And while she was grateful for having it, more grateful than she'd let on in fact, they were still just words. And words were...were...

_Great, now I sound like a bloody orc. Actions, not words, swords, not quills. Or axes, whatever..._

A slanderous line of thought perhaps, but finally reaching her room, Shahra was too tired to care. She'd be fighting alongside what had become her people in a few hours, so any unease that lingered from old hatreds would be academic. All she wanted to do right now was sleep.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. Because not only was her mind filled with her conversation with Leo, but even if she'd been eager to embrace the night's slumber, someone had other plans...

In hindsight, some_thing_ might have been the better term to use. Because walking into a room bathed with light so radiant that even casting a hand over her eyes did little good, Shahra knew that such radiance stemming from a normal being was impossible.

_Argh! What the Hell is going on?! What's happening?! Where...where is this light coming from?!_

"_From Light itself Shahra. So do not fear it, nor the one who bares it."_

It was perhaps ironic that the amount of light in the room diminished with these words, though it was a decline that the blood elf was grateful for. She had no idea about what or who she was dealing with and although the...thing in front of her didn't give her any hints, at least she could see it.

Truth be told, "it" was probably too glib a word. For although Shahra had no idea what kind of creature "it" was, it was a very grand "it." An "it" seemingly composed of light itself yet in vaguely humanoid form, speaking of power and age that no mortal could compare to. And even if "it" could provide insight into its true nature, the former high elf doubted her ability to understand it.

Not that this stopped "it" from trying...

"_You seem surprised,"_ the being said, its voice akin to bells chiming in the wind. _"I suppose that is to be expected. It is rare for a mortal being to be in the presence of a naaru, let alone in the being's own room."_

Shahra shifted uneasily. "Yes...I guess you could say that. But...wait? A naaru? That's what you're called?"

"_Technically, no. A naaru is what I am, but my name is A'dal. And while I know your name to be Shahra Dreamsinger, I still seek to make your acquaintance."_

Somehow, the blood elf wasn't surprised. Not that she'd been expecting a luminous being to great her in Honor Hold, but after all that had happened since her arrival in Outland, there seemed to be little left that could surprise her.

_But there's more to it than that, isn't there?_

The sin'dorei didn't know whether A'dal could read her mind, but if so, she would have actually been grateful for it. Somehow, there was something...familiar about him (or _her_, it was hard to tell, provided that naaru even had genders). Not personally, but far more general. As if she'd seen one of his kind before...

"I haven't seen you around here..." said Shahra slowly, staring at the luminous being despite its glare. "You visit Honor Hold often?"

"_No,"_ answered A'dal. _"Most of my time is spent in Shattrath City. Yet as with all of my kind, my voice is heard beyond."_

Voice...that was it. She didn't know of naaru by sight, but rather knew of them by sound. A sound that she'd heard in-...

"Tempest Keep..." the elf whispered. "That's where I first heard of you. A voice who whispered to me. A voice who said to travel south and meet one of her own kind." Shahra paused for breath, ready to take the final step, regardless of where that led.

"That's you, isn't it?"

In an instant, the blood elf understood that the enigma of the naaru (which they almost certainly possessed) was not only real, but was likely underestimated. Because if the voice of these beings was heard "from beyond," as A'dal put it, the likely mystique that resulted only intensified when meeting them face-to-face. For while Shahra could sense that A'dal understood her words and what she had inferred by them, his reaction to them was another kettle of murlocs. Even if he had features such as eyes and a mouth, any insight provided would have been academic. It was only when he spoke, his voice laced with sorrow, that Shahra began to gain insight into his motives.

"I fear E'tara suffered much for her defiance," said the naaru sorrowfully. "Yet it pleases me to see that her faith and pity were not misplaced."

A feeling akin to sorrow washed over the former high elf in turn, though she knew that it was actually guilt. Many weeks had passed since Tempest Keep, yet she could still remember the words of the apparent naaru who guided her. "He" had come to deal with her and while the identity of said male had not been revealed, images of Kael'thas and Tartarus sprung up in her mind readily.

"I'm sorry," said Shahra softly, lowering her head for a reason not at all related to A'dal's radiance. "I...I didn't ask for one of your kind to come to harm by the Illidari, especially for the sake of one such as-..."

"_Do not belittle yourself, child of blood,"_ said A'dal firmly. _"And do not question the reasons for E'tara's pity either."_

"Why?" snapped the blood elf, feeling a surge of irrational anger. "Why shouldn't I feel guilt for being the focus of pity?"

"_Because pity stems from compassion. And without compassion, we are no better than Light's anathema."_

Once again, Shahra lowered her head, though soon brought it up in a slow nod. A'dal might have been an enigma, but his words were crystal clear. And even after seeing what power cruelty could bring in Outland, Shahra knew his words to be true.

The naaru's subsequent words were another story...

"_Shahra, there is little time," said the naaru firmly. "The attack on Hellfire Citadel will begin soon and I have business to attend to elsewhere. However, while you are not the sword of fate, you are still among the many who will wield it in the next few hours. And while you are torn between past and present, the future is still in motion. As with your identity, it is what you make for yourself."_

Once again the sin'dorei remained silent, though without nodding. She did not pretend to understand the naaru's motivations, though with A'dal repeating E'tara's words, she decided to trust them. Trust had kept her alive with Leo after all and this creature seemed to be far above the emotions that could have jeopardized it.

Truth be told, giving her an elven blade and gold medallion could have contributed to that trust. She might have been a simple girl, but still, shiny things were pretty, even when they materialized out of nowhere at the hands of some divine being. Not that A'dal actually had hands of course.

"These are for me?" asked Shahra. A rhetorical question, but still, she wasn't about to just grab them.

"_Indeed. The sword is but part of the steel that may topple Hellfire, but even so, it is a fine weapon both in form and function. The medallion on the other hand, is for you alone, yet is not to be used in the same manner as the blade. In a sense, it is not to be _used _at all. Rather, its worth will become apparent when you live E'tara's words."_

Confused, Shahra fingered the gold item, examining its properties. Not that that took long, considering that there was no embroidery whatsoever. A simple sphere that easily fit into her hand and attached to a chain meant to be worn around the neck, Shahra still found it eerily similar to the sword. All form with no function apart from being used as a tool.

_But what use would that be?_

The blood elf had no idea and although she would have asked the naaru in front of her in an instant, instinct held her back. If A'dal had wanted to tell her the purpose of this piece of jewellery, she suspected that he would have done so in an instant. Yet even so, the need for questions answered remained in her mind.

"Why are you doing this?" asked the former high elf, embracing her quel'dorei nature. "There are hundreds of warriors about to attack Hellfire Citadel tomorrow. So why take the time with me specifically?"

A'dal let out a chuckle. _"A fair question, Shahra Dreamsinger and one that does you great credit. And in that lies your answer."_

"What? I don't understand."

"_Of course you don't. You don't understand everything, yet do not presume to. Perhaps that is why E'tara aided you and why I continued that trend. Although you have made presumptions in the past as to monotony of your kind, both past and present, you have still asked questions. And in a sense, that is the essence of good and evil."_

"Good and evil?" asked Shahra curiously. "You saying that they distinctly exist?"

"_No Shahra, of course not," _said A'dal firmly._ "Good and evil may exist, but not in distinction on their own. Without Light, the void cannot exist and vice versa, yet this relationship must be understood first. We decide what's good and what's evil based on our own choices. And if I may say so Shahra, you have often made the right ones."_

"And the others fighting beside me don't?"

Shahra could tell that this question wasn't going to be answered. Partly due to instinct, partly due to the fact that A'dal was fading in a manner that suggested the same manner of transportation he had used to grace her with his presence in the first place. Yet still she hoped. Still she dreamed. And although the naaru surprised her by indeed answering, she wasn't sure whether that was a good thing.

"_Let's just say that the nature of your existence makes your choices remarkable..."_

* * *

Hell...

A realm of demons, of darkness, of fel magic. A realm which was often referred to as the Dark Below. A realm where no mortal could tread safely.

In essence, it was a realm akin to Outland...

It was thus fair to say that if Outland was Hell, it had an epicentre. And to say that this epicentre was the Citadel of Hell itself, set on the peninsula which bore the realm's name, then one could say it was aptly named. Demons, fel orcs...all monsters. And on its ramparts, stood their lord and master. A master who knew what was coming. A master who would ensure that Hell stood firm against the tide of Light.

A master who would wait to confront the avenging angel...

* * *

_A/N_

_For the few who care, there was indeed a reason why I missed a week in regards to posting. First and formost was that my internet connection went down in the time period where I originally intended to post this chapter. And as that time period led to a week's worth of fieldwork down at the Illawarra...yeah, didn't had much of a chance to post. And as this chapter took _forever _to write, for reasons beyond that of simple length, perhaps it's appropriate._

_Minor note, part of the consideration for what to include in this chapter and what not to delayed me in the drafting aspect as well as the writing one, specifically to what extent I should depict the intimacy between Shahra and Leo's interactions, ranging from what was seen here to...well, something that might have raised the rating to M. Still, repeating the decision I made to a similar dilemma I faced in _Loomings_, I decided to take the tame option. Lemon isn't really my thing in writing or reading and even if it was, I felt that such a scene wouldn't really further the plot and in light of the story's overall plot, wouldn't fit into the progression I wanted. _

_Or something. Drabble over._


	22. Into the Flames

**Denial**

**Chapter 22: Into the Flames**

Fiction rarely coincides with reality.

It is a fact that all races have come to terms with, or at least those who engage in the art of storytelling. And who is to say that there is something wrong with this? Fiction is freedom. Fiction is escape. Fiction is the manifestation of a being's heart and soul, to tell that which is improbable, impossible and at times, things that are within reach of a mortal. In the end, fiction symbolizes hope.

This is not to say that fiction is without limitations however. Unlike the real world, fiction must make sense. And at times, fiction may offer nought but despair. Not all stories have happy endings after all. Sometimes, reality cannot be kept at bay. Sometimes, reality taints the imagination. And at times, however rare, reality and fiction become one and the same.

Over the last thirty or so years and the beginning of what some called the Age of Chaos, the merging of fiction and reality had become more common. The nature of siege warfare was one such example. For while in fiction a siege would often progress with one side attacking the defenders in a storm of steel and the equipment required for which to bring sword and shield to bear, in reality this was rarely the case. In the real world, a siege would often be a protracted affair, the attacker waiting for the defender to surrender as food and hope ran out. An assault on a fortress' walls, while technically possible to pull off, was risky at best and would inevitably result in an atrocious loss of life. Not that a leader always cared about this, but even so, the dead can't march alongside the living.

But thirty years ago, things changed. With the opening of the Dark Portal, a new era began. The Horde descended upon Azeroth, always attacking Stormwind directly through a combination of numbers and bloodlust. A combination that, after four long years, saw the city fall and in turn, many towns and fortresses further north in what would become known as the Second War. And while the Scourge lacked the blind fury of the first servants of the Burning Legion, their numbers and persistence more than made up for this. Mardenholde, Silvermoon, Dalaran...no longer would sieges be decided by time. Now, they would be decided by blood.

And as the combined armies of the Sons of Lothar, Aldor, Scryers and forces of Thrallmar approached Hellfire Citadel, the manifestation of fiction in reality would be no different...

It was not the largest army to walk the face of the ruins of Draenor, even if one chose to forget the juggernaut of the destruction the orcs became under the baleful influence of Kil'jaeden the Deceiver all those years ago. A few hundred, perhaps a hundred strong at best and divided along racial lines, it was nonetheless a force to be reckoned with. A new age had begun after the Third War, where the power of an individual suddenly became far more than what was once possible. And while the given of siege warfare that the defenders were outnumbered by the attackers stood true, those guarding Hellfire were few and far between. Fel orcs that had been spawned by the blood of Magtheridon, they stood ready to meet those who would dare defy Lord Illidan with rage and steel. They had failed Magtheridon half a decade ago. But they would not do so now.

Of course, the will of the attackers was no less than that of their enemy. From east, south and north they approached the fortress, each force knowing their task. They knew what was at stake, knew what the fall of Hellfire Citadel would mean in their fight against the Illidari and Burning Legion. And approaching the outskirts of the fortress, each stopping to gauge their enemy and let their enemy gauge them in turn, every warrior knew what must be done. Human, orc, draenei, blood elf...it was all or nothing. Regardless of race, creed or ideology, their actions united them. A single action that they carried out as one...

Charge.

As one, the red skinned orcs opened fire at their green skinned cousins and their allies, black feathered arrows filling the sky before raining down on the attackers, as if Chaos itself had begun its reign again. Its effectiveness was somewhat in question however-this was a new age, where victory or defeat would be decided by numbers far fewer than what there had been in the past. And while those loyal to the Light and spirits were not few in number, they were few enough to ensure that if one fell, the momentum of others would not be disrupted to any great extent. Only as the three forces crossed the bridges that led to the fortress did massed fire prove its worth, and many who were not born to die fell victim to the projectiles. For if the Citadel was indeed of Hell, it represented its highest peak, a crag overlooking the wasteland of destruction and to which there were few bridges that the lost and the damned could cross, inevitably incurring heavy losses as they did so.

Yet the attackers kept moving. The Scryers to the Blood Furnace, the Sons of Lothar and Aldor to the Hellfire Ramparts and those of Thrallmar to the Shattered Halls...if they did not brave damnation, then damnation would inevitably come to them and those they'd left behind.

This was the essence of Hellfire.

And the waters of Heaven surged forward.

* * *

Casting up his grappling hook, Leo yearned for the days when he was playing the role of defender rather than attacker in sieges.

True, "yearned" was probably too kind a word when it came to the carnage of the Second War, but nonetheless, the human did spend a moment reminiscing on his experiences. The Alliance had been on the defensive for much of the conflict and while the Horde's advance northwards could only be slowed rather than stopped until the tide turned at the last minute, it had still resulted in lower bloodshed for Azeroth's children than those besieging them. And now, on the side of the attackers, he couldn't help but wonder if his blood would be contributing to the statistical norm that a direct siege required the attacker to have a 3:1 numerical advantage to succeed, especially since the conglomeration of factions laying siege to Hellfire Citadel didn't have such a ratio.

_Always hated maths..._

Still, beginning to climb, Leo realized how much he hated siege warfare more, not to mention one of the most vulnerable means of assaulting a wall. It wasn't the only method of attack-Hellfire Ramparts basically consisted of two ramps that led to the Shattered Halls, but the fel orcs were standing their ground further up the path, prompting the Sons of Lothar and Aldor to send their members on a vertical rather than diagonal approach. And in the heat of the moment, Leo had taken the hard road.

"I suppose this is where I say race you to the top," came a familiar voice over the clash of steel and maiming of flesh and bone. "But I think cockiness can take a backseat."

Leo grimaced, remaining silent. That Ardelan had also embarked on the climb was a comfort to him, but right now he wanted to concentrate on his ascent. The fel orcs above were mostly focussed on the humans and draenei heading up the ramps but some had taken note of the grappling hooks cast over the edge of the rampart. It was unlikely that their axes could cut through the iron-cast ends or pull it back far enough to remove its grip given Leo's wait, but even so, these weren't possibilities he intended on testing. No...the only test he was interested in was whether he could successfully climb up after fighting a red-skinned monster in this position.

Given that a human and draenei were sent plummeting to their deaths either side of him, he wasn't too fond of the possibilities...

"Keep climbing human," snarled the fel orc directly above him. "It will only make seeing your broken body more satisfying."

Leo didn't answer, but he did acquiesce to the beast's demand. Better to follow orders than wait for the brute to pick up a bow and simply shoot him. Still, he wasn't too keen on falling to his death either, so as the warrior swung down his axe, Leo parried with his sword.

_Clang!_

"Like all your race, weak and timid," sneered the fel orc.

"Keep talking you bastard," Leo snarled, thrusting his sword upward while keeping his balance. "I've heard this rhetoric before."

"And never again."

It was a valid point. Leo's broadsword wasn't meant to be wielded one handed and as such, it was far less effective in both parrying and attacking. Still, the human not only knew this, but knew that the fel orc recognised this fact in some form as well. The beast had the advantage, but as the creature knew that, Leo could turn such knowledge against it.

Or, specifically, grab the shaft of its axe as it came down, use the extra leverage to pull himself upwards and impale the redskin through the throat, climbing up as it grasped the wound with its dying breaths.

_Guess I never will hear that rhetoric again, _thought the captain smugly. _The SOB was right about __**shit!**_

While the fel orc hadn't mentioned faeces, Leo swore by them anyway. Such was the reaction to seeing another fel orc swinging an axe in his direction...an axe that made contact with its now dead comrade as Leo used its body as a formerly living shield.

"Trk'hsk!" (_Bloodshed in battle_) exclaimed the fel orc, shocked at the manoeuvre the human had just performed.  
"Yes..." said Leo calmly, still holding onto the body with one hand while impaling his enemy with the other. "Your blood."

More blood came Leo's way from behind, splattering over his neck and hair. Turning around, he realized that it might have very well been his blood and only Ardelan crushing a fel orc's skull with his warhammer had prevented it.

"You have a nice tongue, Captain Ragoa," said Ardelan as he quickly wiped grey matter off the tip of his weapon. "Try not to lose the capacity to use it."

Leo remained silent. He didn't want to comment on the possibility of his decapitation.

Glancing around the battlefield, the captain was glad to see that such a possibility seemed to be steadily diminishing. Few humans or draenei had successfully made the climb, but their actions had seemingly distracted the defenders of Hellfire long enough for the soldiers assaulting the ramparts conventionally to surge upwards. Of course, that the Scryers had gained complete control of the route to the Blood Furnace might have had something to do with it, with reinforcements being directed to engage them.

"Scryers have done well..." Ardelan murmured, as if reading Leo's thoughts.

"Shahra's up there," grunted Leo, though he wasn't sure whether he meant to say it as a statement or answer. Of course, rushing to engage the fel orcs from behind, he didn't have much time to think and even less when one of the beasts tackled him from the side, the human and fel orc sent sprawling.

"Little worm," snarled the brute from on top.

"Bite me," Leo grunted.

Raising a dagger that looked like it belonged in a butcher's shop, the fel orc seemed to have something else in mind. And if Ardelan hadn't promptly grabbed the creature's neck and broke it, the beast would have probably followed through with such an idea.

"You're getting careless captain," said Ardelan grimly as he gave the human a hand. "That being said, you should head to the Shattered Halls while I head for the Blood Furnace."

"Pardon?" asked Leo, knowing that they didn't have much time to chat. The Sons of Lothar and Aldor had taken control of the ramparts and were now surging forward to the Shattered Halls. Even if he wasn't in a command position, the human knew he was obliged to join them.

"Leo, your gi...friend is up there and you're worried," said Ardelan, ignoring the captain's question of "what the Hell's a _gi-friend_?" "You're needed down here, so if it'll help you concentrate, I'll head up there to join her.

The human opened his mouth...then closed it. He had to admit, Ardelan had a point. It was no coincidence that he hadn't checked his flanks when charging forward after only thinking of Shahra a few seconds before. And while he wasn't sure what to make of whatever feeling stemmed from their conversation at Honour Hold (or did it stem even further back), making sense of it in the middle of battle wouldn't result him in being in this world much longer.

"Alright...thanks," said the captain, patting the Vindicator on his shoulder. "I appreciate it."

Ardelan nodded, a slight smile on his lips. Leo was tempted to ask what he was thinking about, but decided better of it. This wasn't the time to chat.

If he survived this battle though, Leo knew that he'd probably have quite a bit of talking to do.

* * *

"By the Light, what _is _that?"

If any of the Scryers heard Shahra ask the question, they gave no indication. This was understandable in a sense, given that _it _obviously meant the blood elves harm and as a result, the sin'dorei rushed to meet _it_. However, while Shahra could tell that _it _was an enemy, she would have still liked to know what _it _was-you know, address it by name or species than simply _"it."_

"Anger...hate..." the creature sneered. "These are tools I can use."

Demonstrating a more sophisticated use of Common than a single pronoun, the creature opposing the Scryers clearly had some level of intelligence, even if its appearance didn't convey such an impression. With its lower half akin to a satyr, its upper half akin to an ogre and its arms grafted with weapons and/or tools, it struck the former high elf as a being of brawn rather than brain.

"I am the Maker..." snarled the creature, throwing beakers of some foul smelling substance at the assembled blood elves. "My work must not be interrupted."

It was as if these words spurred the Scryers to actually go ahead and interrupt the work. Fireballs cast by mages incinerated the beakers in mid-air while swords and bows were brought against the creature-a type of demon called a "mo'arg" judging by the exclamations of Shahra's fellow warriors. Still, supposing that that mattered little, she joined in. Not in any great formation or plan of attack, but simply a swarm. The Scryers had cut down any fel orc or fel guard that had stood in their way and now that only one foe stood before them and victory, it was simply a case of hack, slash and pick up any gold pieces that were dropped.

Well, maybe not the last part...

"Just die you monster!" shouted one of the Scryers on top of the mo'arg's back while Shahra stuck her sword into its belly. "You don't belong in this world!"

Shahra didn't think such declarations were necessary, but still, the Scryers were winning and therefore had a right to yell cliché battle cries. The Maker was apparently involved in the process of using Magtheridon's blood to create fel orcs for the Illidari, indicated by what looked like a still in the corner and while it was fair to say he could do his job well, fighting was another matter-one in which he had no place.

"Stay...away from...me..." the mo'arg rasped, slowly but surely succumbing to the weight of steel and spells hitting it. "My work...must be...completed..."

Or not. Collapsing in a pool of ichorish blood tended to prevent that from happening.

"He...all too easy," came the voice of one of the Scryers, specifically the one that had climbed on the Maker's back earlier. "The Illidari must be losing their touch."

Shahra glanced at the sin'dorei-black hair, blazing green eyes...almost like Hyperion, except one who followed orders rather than giving them, not to mention the lack of homicidal tendencies. She didn't feel like joining in celebration, but she had to admit, the blood elf had a point. Getting into the Blood Furnace and fighting their way through it had been a cakewalk, especially when compared to the gruelling resistance faced by the Aldor and Sons of Lothar below. She didn't know who had coordinated the defence of the fortress, but it was clear that he/she/it didn't expect an attack in force towards the Blood Furnace itself.

_Ah well, anu belore dela na, _(the sun guides us) thought Shahra to herself, wiping her blade on her tunic with one hand while the mages and warlocks set about preparing whatever spell they had prepared for the Maker's device, all the while fingering her medallion with her other. Her meeting with A'dal was fresh in her mind and while he had praised her curious nature, right now she felt very limited curiosity. She was here to fight and hopefully not die and in the event that she didn't...well, she'd continue doing the same thing. She was among her own kind, but didn't feel any particular kinship with the Scryers, or at least no more than she had with the rest of the races that she'd encountered in Honour Hold. Right now, she wanted to be alongside her friends, Leo and Ardelan-storming Hellfire Citadel might have been a case of déjà vu in light of their experiences in Fort Elron, but Shahra knew that she would have felt more at home alongside them.

_Well, maybe I will be. As soon as this is over we can leave this sun-forsaken fortress and head to a slightly less sun-forsaken fortress._

Or, maybe not. For while it was a simple plan, it didn't count for certain eventualities. For starters, there was the issue of the Maker not really being dead and slowly rising to his feet as the magic casters explained how they were setting a timed spell that would severely damage, if not outright destroy the equipment. And with that issue quickly escalating into the demon spraying acid with the cannon that substituted for its left hand...well, somehow the plan of leaving Hellfire didn't seem that simple anymore.

"To arms!" shouted one of the Scryers as a group of blood elves were reduced to bone and marrow in mere seconds. "The beast is not yet vanquished!"

Shahra blinked, wondering how anyone, elf or otherwise, could use such sanctimonious wording. A blood knight, by the looks of things. Obviously not all paladin tendencies had been forsaken. Regardless, she shot forward anyway.

_This is it beast. Hellfire's finished and you're going down with it._

This, at least, was to the point, the Maker collapsing almost as soon as the first blows were struck. Collapsing and dissolving into a pool of blood. A pool of blood that was highly acidic and, by the looks of things, was causing the floor to give way.

Fear surged through Shahra, her eyes widening. _Down...he's not going down...we are!_

The floor collapsing before this fact could be changed, Shahra and the blood elves unlucky enough to be around his immediate vicinity couldn't argue with that statement.

And even though he'd only just entered the room, nor could Ardelan for that matter.

* * *

Gazgul Bloodstone was ashamed.

This shame was at least not directed towards his fellow orcs. They had fought well and fought hard, driving deep into the Shattered Halls of Hellfire Citadel. Halls that, while not particularly shattered in structure, were at least aptly named, guarded by fel orcs of the Shattered Hand Clan. Maniacs even before degenerating to the sorry state they were in now, each served as a reminder of the ways of the Old Horde, practicing self-mutilation in order to have yet another weapon to slaughter their enemies.

These monsters were nothing but perversions, a reminder of all the orcs had lost when swayed by the honeyed words of Ner'zhul and Gul'dan. And it was only through the satisfaction of removing this blight from the world that was Draenor, yet another thing forever lost, that Gazgul did not become paralysed by his feelings.

"Gol'kosh..." (_By my axe_) murmured one of Gazgul's fellow warriors as he cast down yet another grunt of the Shattered Hand. "Even now as they face defeat, this filth believes their rage translates into superiority."

Parrying the scythe of a fel orc and cutting off its left hand as if to complete its mutilation, Gazgul remained silent. Ogmor had a point, but deep down, he knew it was moot. Warchief Thrall, spirits bless him, had freed the sons and daughters of Draenor from their bloodlust, but that did not excuse them from embracing the curse in the first place. Only the Frostwolf Clan escaped the madness and the Shadow Council had ensured that its leader Durotan had paid the price for such defiance. Deep down, Gazgul knew that he could have been no different from the twisted perversions he now faced.

Gritting his teeth and uttering a prayer to his ancestors, Gazgul finished his work and decapitated the Shattered Hand warrior. A sad end, but sometimes atoning for the past meant removing reminders of it from the present.

"Well done my warriors," uttered the orc, taking note that his comrades all stood triumphant. "Aka'magosh." (_A blessing on you and yours_)

The warriors nodded silently. They knew they were worthy of praise, but as beings of honour, they would not bask in it. They had pushed through the Shattered Halls right into what an ogre called "O'mroog" called the "Hall of Blades" before it was killed, though many of their brethren still fought behind them, not to mention their allies in other parts of the citadel. In a sense, it was almost too easy.

And besides his tainted brethren, _that _was what concerned Gazgul. He had fought for many decades-on Draenor, on Azeroth and had tasted both victory and defeat. He had taken Alliance fortresses during the Second War and knew that while humans were physically inferior to orcs, especially those tainted by bloodlust, they had still provided a better fight than the Shattered Hand had. It was as if the fel orcs weren't fighting at their best or, more likely, weren't being coordinated. And while Gazgul found the second option more likely, the warrior could not help but wonder as to _why_.

Nor could he stop wondering why his comrades were falling like flies around him.

"Grombolar!" (_Bowls of the giant_) Gazgul exclaimed, lifting his axe to face the invisible killer that was leaving his men in pools of their own blood. "What's happening?!"

Gazgul didn't know. But standing alone as the killer revealed himself, he had a pretty good idea...


	23. The Dark Below

**Denial**

**Chapter 23: The Dark Below**

"You let _what _happen?!"

"Exactly what you saw, draenei, as your hooves brought your body into this room. And I fail to see how we _let _this happen. Or do you assume that we like seeing fellow elves fall to their deaths?"

Ardelan grimaced, provoking a quizzical look from the blood elf sorceress he was addressing. Anger could be a tool and as a Vindicator, his wielding of it often resulted in the emotion being quite a useful one. However, as tired as the old saying was that "you must master your anger, lest your anger master you" was, the draenei knew it to be right. He was letting his frustration at recent events and rivalry with the Scryers get out of hand and make himself look an idiot in the process.

"You are right of course..." murmured the draenei. "My apologies."

The sorceress simply shrugged, throwing back her auburn hair over her shoulders. All in all, Ardelan couldn't blame her. The group of Scryers had lost their leader to whatever acid the Maker had spurted in its final death moments and right now they were dealing with the aftermath of that fact. Technically, the aftermath also included their losses, though Ardelan had to admit, they were surprisingly few. As vital as the Blood Furnace was to the operation of Hellfire Citadel and the creation of fel orcs, those who stood in its defence were surprisingly few compared to the Hellfire Ramparts. Yet those who had been lost included Shahra Dreamsinger. And to Leo had least, that made all the difference.

Shifting uneasily on his hoof, Ardelan wondered if Shahra was still in this room, whether he'd even still be here. He didn't have any love for the Scryers, seeking to curry A'dal's favour like sycophants, but he liked to consider himself above the petty rivalry that Ishanah and Voran'thel often displayed. Yet in the end, they were just members of a greater whole, just those who fought the same enemies that he did and, if necessary, died.

_And did the former high elf die? Or could she have survived?_

Walking over to the hole in the floor the Maker had created, Ardelan did his best to find out...and failed. For one thing, there wasn't just a hole in this floor, but in practically every floor below it, descending to the depths of Hellfire beyond his sight. On the other hand, the acid had clearly lost its potency over time as each hole was smaller which, at the least, would slow the sin'dorei's rate of fall if they hit the protrusions. Gravity would dictate that they'd regain maximum velocity soon, but still...

Ardelan rubbed his head, feeling a headache coming on. Gravity, velocity, acceleration...he'd never been too keen on maths. Then again, standing in the presence of a wielder of arcane magic could do that also.

"If you want my opinion, I have no idea if they survived," said the sorceress, hovering above the ground like practically all such wielders of magic. "And I fear that without descending, I would have no way to find out."

_And you're not going to, are you? _thought Ardelan, immediately berating himself for it. Sometimes returning for comrades was the right thing to do, but whether it was the logical thing to do was another story. A lone sorceress coming across survivors might be able to help her fellow blood elves in the short term, but long term survival was another matter.

A Vindicator on the other hand...

"Very well, I'll go."

The sorceress blinked, clearly surprised. "I'm sorry...but what?"

"I wield the powers of the Light, so I can heal any survivors. And in case you haven't noticed donkey ears, I'm wielding a giant hammer. So if you can think of any other reasons why I shouldn't be the one to go down there, say it now."

Ardelan wasn't sure where such words were coming from and nor was the blood elf in front of him. Still, while she was clearly grateful at least, Ardelan wasn't so sure. His words were full of bravado, but to what extent did he have the greater good in mind in his offer and if Shahra was up here, would he even have made it? And when it came to the former high elf, were his words stemming from his own morals or simply a desire to ensure that Leo's apparent foray into the land of daffodils and puppy dogs didn't end on the wrong side of lollipop lane?

Ardelan found his headache worsening. Sickening metaphors weren't his favourite use of Common.

"I don't think I can argue with your actions," said the sorceress eventually, smiling genuinely. "Very well. It will be difficult what with your weight-..."

"What?!"

"Given that you're wearing armour," answered the sorceress hastily. "But with enough magic, I think I could levitate you down safely."

Ardelan nodded, fighting the urge to comment on the strength of the blood elf's magic in regards to whatever source she'd used to get it. Still, that wasn't to say he was completely above disdain for the Scryers right now. Glancing at the rest of them, they were milling around like one-legged chickens, at a loss after accomplishing their goals so fast yet suffering losses at the end of their trial. Someone needed to take charge and give them orders.

"I'll get right on that," Ardelan murmured.

"What?" asked the sorceress curiously.

"I said I'll take up your offer," grunted the draenei, swinging his hammer over his shoulders. "But first, someone needs to take charge of this rabble."

"What, you?" she laughed. "They won't pay attention to each other, what makes you think they'll to a draenei?"

"Just watch me," answered the Vindicator, walking to the centre of the room. Slamming his hammer down on the floor with an almighty crash, getting everyone's attention. So far so good. Now for the motivation.

"**Alright, listen up!" **Ardelan yelled. **"In case any of you are blind, I'm a draenei. An Aldor. A person who's fought his way through hell to come across a bunch of children who don't know what to do after having an easy sabotage. Well, as the only person who **_**does **_**know what to do, I'll tell you. You're going to march out of the Blood Furnace. You're going to send messengers to your fellow commanders that the job is done and we can leave Hellfire. And in case of you have any questions, you can talk to the hand. The hand that, as of now, is holding a warhammer that can crush your skulls in a single blow and squish whatever passes for your brains in an instant. Now, are there any questions? Or is this prep talk over?"**

Given the awkward silence that descended over the chamber, Ardelan concluded the answer was in the negative.

* * *

_This could be...problematic._

Despite this, the new arrival saw no reason to panic. The arcane portal closing behind him, he could at least take solace that he had arrived at his intended destination, not to mention that said destination was free from unwantables. Well, there had been that sorceress casting some spell, but a quick use of a blade had put an end to _that _problem.

"You...how could you..."

Ignoring the blood elf's dying words and leaving her to lie in the pool of blood spreading from her stomach, the traveller inspected the work of the attackers. The Maker was dead and to make matters worse, his equipment had been sabotaged. Sabotaged with a spell that was essentially timed and beyond his ability to dispel.

"You...you can't stop it..."

Grimacing, the figure admitted that the sin'dorei had a point. He was a powerful user of magic and after having practiced it for thousands of years, had experience to match that power. So while his skill in the arcane was far beyond the ones who had attacked Hellfire Citadel, his wisdom prompted him to stay his hand. Magic existed outside conventional laws of physics but could still interact with them. And with molecular matter being converted into energy, soon a critical point would be reached due to its buildup. A point in which the Maker's device would be damaged beyond repair. And while he could mitigate the effects somewhat, there was no way to totally prevent the chain reaction from occurring.

_A setback, _thought the visitor as he altered the arcane currents around the singularity to minimize the effect. _But no matter. It is a problem solved._

"It's...it's too late..."

Ignoring the whore's whining, the figure considered his next move. Yes, that was one problem solved, but many more remained. Problems that included the botched defence of Hellfire and the anomaly that had led him here. The same anomaly that had led him all across Outland for something that he wasn't even sure was worth pursuing.

_But there's more to it than that isn't there? The entire defence of this citadel has been compromised based on whatever game is being played. And _someone _will answer to it or by my blades, a new soul will writhe in the Twisting Nether by sunrise!_

Problems, problems, problems. And bringing his anger under control, the same anger that had festered for thousands of years, the new arrival resolved to deal with them.

"You...you won't win..."

Bringing a foot down and breaking the bitch's neck, one of those problems was solved immediately.

* * *

"So...you're awake."

From experience, that probably wasn't the best thing to say for the blonde haired, gray clothed girl stirring before him. After all, mortals' minds were often as frail as their bodies and awakening to the sound of a demon's voice. But then again, Magtheridon, former lord of Outland and now prisoner to the upstart Illidan Stormrage, was hardly known for his kindness and he saw no reason to carve himself a new image. He had not battled through the fire and flame of chaos itself to engage in an emotion as insipid as love. No...it was always better to be feared. Because even when you were a prisoner, even when you couldn't harm an unexpected visitor, the fear you inspired still caused her to crawl backwards in terror.

"Going so soon?" Magtheridon sneered. "Well, it is hardly surprising. Your kind only dared attack me directly after my defences were disabled from within, after assassinating my lieutenants like cowards. You wield the power of my blood freely yet are like children playing with fire."

The blood elf had stopped in her tracks by this stage, looking up at the annhilian with a degree of curiosity in addition to her own fear. This in turn aroused the pit lord's own curiosity. Or rather added to it all things considered.

"Magtheridon..." whispered the sin'dorei, slowly rising to her feet as she did so. "You're Magtheridon..."

Although getting to her feet did little to close the gap in height, the pit lord still twice as tall as she was, Magtheridon nonetheless detected a change in the atmosphere. A change that also served to strengthen the connection he felt...

"Yes, I am Magtheridon..." declared the demon, laughing softly as he did so. "And before we continue this conversation, I think you should thank me, worm."

"Thank you?!" exclaimed the blood elf. "What for?!"

"For sparing you from the same fate as your comrades."

Magtheridon grinned as the elf glanced around at the broken bodies of her kin scattered around her, those who had perished in the fall from above. He couldn't comprehend such emotions himself, why anyone would bother forming attachments with such...temperamental beings, but if he could watch such exquisite displays of pain, then he wasn't complaining. True, he'd been in pain the last five years but that didn't stop him from revelling in the pain of others.

"You saved me?" the elf whispered, her green eyes matching the identical glow of Magtheridon's. "How? Why?"

Ah, sensible questions. Perhaps there was hope for conversation yet.

Conversation...it was almost an alien concept to Magtheridon really. Back when he'd ruled Outland his 'conversations' were one sided, simply giving orders to those in service to him. Still, while he was still above this wench, he could at least appreciate the status quo was slightly different. As such, he decided to indulge her.

"Even chained as I am, I can still wield some magic," said the pit lord cordially, tugging on the purple magical tethers to illustrate his point. And with my guards having left to defend the fortress, I can exert more than usual. Enough to slow your fall to spare your miserable life."

"I suppose I should thank you then?"

"No," grunted the pit lord, beginning to have second thoughts. "You shouldn't. Because if it wasn't for whatever strange connection we share, I wouldn't have bothered."

"Connection?" asked the blood elf curiously. "What connection?"

Magtheridon laughed. As repugnant as emotions were, they were still fun to play with.

"I knew it as soon as I saw you..." said the annihilan slowly. "There is something about you, little elf. Something eerily familiar. It's the same feeling I get whenever my blood is used to produce fel orcs for the Betrayer, though without the disgust. You are different from them of course, but still, you are familiar. More than I would have thought possible..."

The elf remained silent. Or at least she did until she started walking backwards, uttering all kinds of denials from "you're wrong!" to "impossible!" Magtheridon simply laughed. He'd always discarded manipulation as the province of the nathrezim, but having carried it out himself, there was a certain appeal to it.

And he had to admit, he was somewhat curious as to _why _he felt this way.

"Deny it all you want, little girl," the pit lord sneered. "But you cannot change the facts. There is a connection between you and I. And even if I do not know the answer as to why, you will have to face the answer sooner or later. Now which will it be?"

The blood elf didn't look set to answer. And even if she was, it was unlikely that she'd have the chance to. Because someone else came down into his lair from above, riding on the remnants of what appeared to be a levitation spell. Someone, or rather some_thing _that prompted Magtheridon's undivided attention. An blue skinned, black haired individual that prompted nothing but hatred and contempt...

A _draenei_.

"Insect!" Magtheridon yelled, struggling to come to grips with the aberration of the eredar. "Vermin! Leach! May you die a thousand deaths!"

Letting out a roar, Magtheridon surged forward, only for his shackles to hold him back. He knew of the draenei, those servants to the despicable naaru and their repugnant crusade to establish order across Creation. Those beings of the Light were an aberration to the true, chaotic nature of the universe, the antithesis of everything that the Burning Legion and the Dark Titan strove for. Suffice to say, Magtheridon despised them. Just as much as he loathed those who served them, especially those who spurned Sargeras for the celestial abominations.

"Wretch! Mongrel! These chains will not hold me forever!"

It appeared that the draenei had reached the same conclusion, grabbing the girl by the arm and starting to run out. Still, even if Magtheridon couldn't harm them directly, his roars had done the next best thing. From the other side of the chamber, his jailer, Keli'dan the Breaker had emerged. And channelling fel energies, surrounding himself in the shadows of the Nether, it was clear that the fel orc had no intention of letting the intruders from escaping.

Watching the pair flee, Magtheridon briefly reflected that he'd never receive an answer from the blood elf as to why she felt familiar. But in the end, that meant little. Curiosity was all well and good, but hatred was a far more delectable emotion.

Still, watching her glance at him with fear that stemmed from more than just his appearance, it was clear the girl thought differently...

* * *

_These halls don't look that shattered..._

It was an irrelevant train of thought and Leonard Ragoa knew it. Titles weren't always literal after all, not even among fel orcs. And besides, it was fair to say that the Shattered Halls took their namesake from that of the Shattered Hand Clan. The orc clan that the human had fought against in the Dark Portal conflict, where the Alliance had ventured to the Horde controlled world of Draenor and left stranded there. The orc clan that, for some reason, was conspicuously absent.

_And is that a bad thing?_

On the surface it wasn't, though Leo still remembered something Danath had told him decades ago-there _is _such a thing as too easy and when you think something's more easy than it should be, it probably is. Fort Elron and Hyperion's games had been testament to that fact and Leo saw no reason to forget it, especially in light of the difficulties faced assaulting the Hellfire Ramparts. Still, if the Illidari were intent on springing a trap, it was unlikely they were waiting for him specifically and had already sprung it, hopefully being defeated. Certainly the number of fel orc bodies suggested such an outcome.

_Oh joy._

It was stupid really, breaking off from his men by going after Shahra for some vague, undiscernible reason. It was fair to say that the defence of the citadel had been focussed on the ramparts and that she and the Scryers were having no problem pressing forward. Indeed, for all he knew, their mission might have been complete and it was time to pull out. After all, with the Shattered Halls almost abandoned, he had no real purpose for being here.

Still, he pressed on. Emotion was driving him forward and "almost" being the key word in that sentence, he was pretty much obliged to by this point.

"So human...I see you've come to add your stench to these traitors."

"Almost" wasn't the key word in that sentence. Indeed, coming to a stop and grasping his sword, Leo wasn't sure if there even was a keyword. However, if he had to choose, "human" and "traitors" would rank highly. The former because it described him and the latter because it presumably described the numerous orc bodies that surrounded the red skinned one in the centre of the carnage. A red skinned monster that, if only for a moment, made Leo's fear uncontrolled.

With blazing eyes, pitch black, spiked armour and scythes where arms should have been, Kargath Bladefist tended to have that effect on people.

"You look frightened, little man," sneered the fel orc and leader of the Shattered Hand Clan. "You are either very foolish, or very brave. Personally, I will guess at the former."

Leo remained silent. He wasn't sure what Kargath was trying to do-as goading went, it was quite weak, but if he truly held him in so low regard, he'd hardly give the "your power pales before me!" speech.

"It's a shame, really," Kargath continued, waving a claw at the bodies around him. "These orcs could have been so much more. But instead they turned from power. They became weak, developed bleeding hearts. In the end, all one can do is remove their infection by removing their own."

Glancing at the corpses, Leo was slightly thankful that Kargath wasn't being literal, that despite the mess of blood and bone before him, hearts were distinctly absent. However, it was cold comfort in the end. He admittedly had some remaining prejudices to orcs, but no-one deserved to die like this. A death that, he was beginning to suspect, was probably inevitable for him. After all, the ten orcs here had given it their all against Kargath and still lost. What chance did he, a lone human have?

Very little. And Leo suspected that Kargath knew it. But if that was the case, why waste time?

"What, cat got your tongue?" the fel orc sneered. "You come here to give me the silent treatment? Odd. You pinkskins are good at doing nothing, but usually there's some pointless chatter behind it."

"I do what I must," Leo murmured, surprised to find the brute getting to him. He was used to these kind of insults, but somehow Kargath got under his skin.

"Perhaps..." grinned the fel orc. "Indeed, that's what this one said before I gutted him."

Sticking his right scythe into one of the normal orcs' backs and using his left to raise the corpse from the floor, Leo saw which one Kargath was referring to. The one orc he'd most hoped not to see here.

"Gazgul..." he whispered.

"Oh, you knew him?" Kargath asked, sounding as angry as Leo was feeling right now. "Well, it's hardly surprising. These traitors were so weak, only a _human _could have infected them with the repulsiveness of-..."

"**Raghh!"**

Roaring in a manner befitting of the beast standing in front of him, Leo charged. By the Light, Gazgul would never have a Lok'amon (_traditional orc song of starting a family_) sung of him, but he'd be damned if he didn't get the Lok'vadnod (_traditional orc song about the life of a hero_) he deserved. And damnit, Kargath's death would be in it! And if the fel orc hadn't parried Leo's sword with his scythes in an **X **shape, that song would be as good as written.

"Anger..." said Kargath softly, bringing his face close to the human below him. "Useful even when used by enemies. It can make even the weakest of combatants put up a fight. So while killing you will be less gratifying than the filth around me, I will at least hope that you can use your anger to put up a better fight than they did."

And that nailed it.

In an instant, Leo knew the truth. Kargath didn't respect him. Indeed, he respected him even less than the orcs he'd just killed. No...all the monster wanted was a good fight. And he'd go to the lengths of even butchering his own kind to get it. In the end, he wanted Leo to be angry just so he'd last longer than a few seconds.

Uttering a prayer to the Light and channelling that anger as he brought his sword back for another strike, Leo prepared to grant that demand.


	24. For Whom the Bell Tolls

**Denial**

**Chapter 24: For Whom the Bell Tolls**

Kargath Bladefist...Warchief of the Fel Horde...The Merciless One

Names, titles...all irrelevant in the end if you didn't live up to them. No, not irrelevant...shameful. A shame that many orcs had fallen into, never to crawl out from. And if they _did _try, Kargath would make certain that they fell back into their cesspit. Once a traitor, always a traitor, whose taint could only be removed by death.

_Or maybe not. Even now, the scent of these traitors surrounds me._

Had the leader of the Shattered Hand Clan been a lesser warrior, that might have been a cause for concern. Conflict was his way of life and bloodshed his wine, but that did not mean he could afford to lose concentration. And though he expected little from the pinkskin he was now facing (or rather looking down on, courtesy of height differences), experience had taught him that size was not the only determinant in battle. So while it was tempting to lose himself in the stench of his lost brethren, Kargath resisted the urge. One more ingredient had to be added to the broth of bloodshed and while human blood would not bring much taste, it would at least add to the overall substance.

_And it's already begun._

The human reeled backwards, blood seeping out from a scar on his left cheek. As Kargath was two feet taller than he was, bringing his blades downwards was a viable tactic. And while he was wary from falling into a repetitive fighting style, the pinkskin's wound was testament to how effective he could be. The hairless ape was at a disadvantage and looking at his eyes, seeing glimpses of fear, Kargath knew it.

"Do you feel it?" the fel orc whispered, waiting for his enemy to regain his balance. "Do you see why I am called the Bladefist? Why I am the warchief?"

"Yeah, I see..." murmured the human, bringing his broadsword into a defensive stance. "I guess that psychopath didn't have the same ring to it and calling you warchief is the only way to remove your shame that someone sane is leading your kind back on Azeroth. The only warchief worthy of-..."

"I am the only warchief!" Kargath yelled, glad that he did not have to suffer the name of Durotan's bastard son. "The true warchief of the true Horde! And you are not worthy of being in my presence."

Roaring and giving praise to his patron demons, Kargath charged the upstart. An upstart that in traditional pinkskin slipperiness, demonstrated that their armour wasn't always as heavy as it looked and darted aside, bringing his sword in a horizontal arc. And while Kargath's armour held, that did not stop part of the blade from making contact with a piece of flesh underneath it.

"That was for Gazgul," the human grunted. "The next one is for the sake of it."

Not knowing who "Gazgul" was and not caring in the slightest either, Kargath attacked, not wanting his foe to retain the brief advantage he'd gained. A swing of his blade, a thrust of his fist, he pressed his attack, the human soon falling on the defensive. A defence that soon began to crumble, both blades eventually drawing blood. Minor wounds, but ones that would take their toll.

"Meat..." sneered Kargath, pressing his advantage as he did so. "You're nothing but _meat_. And I will grind it from your bones!"

Raising both his blades, he prepared to do so. However, the human had other plans, seizing the opportunity the opening provided and sending his blade forward. Kargath managed to parry at the last instance, but the ripstoe was all the human needed to regain the advantage.

"I'd hoped you'd get tired of rhetoric," the human sneered, dodging a clumsy blow made by the fel orc and successfully landing his own. "But in the end, I guess my friends were right."

"What?"

"Parrots. You're like bloody _parrots_. You go on about demons and power and the only way to shut you up is to throttle you."

Kargath doubted the vermin's hands were big enough to strangle him and even if they were, whether the grunt could reach his neck anyway. Still, landing yet another blow to his left chestplate, perhaps he didn't need to. The human couldn't strangle him, but he could still pluck away all his proverbial feathers until he couldn't fly anymore.

_Well, we can't have that now can we?_

"You say we're like parrots," Kargath sneered, standing his ground and blocking the man's blows. "Well then, what are you? Little dogs who whine in every beating, yet bite when your enemies are down? Cowards who prefer to let us die in captivity then do the deed yourselves?"

"I'll do the deed right now you son of a bitch!"

Roaring, the human leapt forward. Sidestepping and sweeping his blade, causing a bloody line across the man's forehead, Kargath struck him like the dog he was.

"Big words," the fel orc sneered. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. All your kind do is _talk_. And while you can write as well, quills are all you're capable of wielding in the end."

Kargath had expected the human to respond, yet he remained silent. Maybe his bravado was shot. Maybe he realized that his superior had a point. Or, most likely, he truly was akin to a puppy. And like all canines, he was incapable of meaningful words. Well, no matter. Kargath was the master, so he'd walk his pet for a few more yards. After that, he'd put him down.

Still, with the human once again going on the attack, there was admittedly a chance he'd get bitten in the process.

* * *

"Closer! Come closer...and burn!"

It was strange really, how some people thought that simply telling individuals to do something would result in them doing it, even to their detriment. Not that Shahra Dreamsinger's personal experience accounted for this overmuch, but having played Hyperion's game in Fort Elron and barely coming up on top, she knew how Machiavellian people tended to act. And while the...thing chasing her and Ardelan seemed to have fewer delusions of grandeur than the astromancer, he still seemed to believe that telling his foes to allow themselves to be incinerated would result in them doing so.

"Closer...closer!"

At this point it was hard to tell whether the monster was giving orders or referring to himself, his rapid pace gaining on the blood elf and draenei running through the Blood Furnace. Shahra hadn't looked back to gauge the distance, however much she wanted to. Not that she wanted to see how close the berserker was...no, what she wanted to see was even further back. Something even more horrific...

Magtheridon.

The sin'dorei was concerned...so concerned that she didn't even reflect on the irony that she _wanted _to be in close proximity to a demon. Concerned not because he was there, or that he was aware of her existence, but because of what she had felt in his presence. A feeling that she knew should not have existed, yet did anyway. A feeling that the Pit Lord himself had commented on...

Familiarity.

Shahra didn't know how, nor did she know why. All she knew was that recognition had gone hand in hand with raw terror in the monster's presence, the former serving to amplify the latter. And his words...blood. The same blood that Tartarus had commented on, had felt familiarity with. Familiarity felt by a fel orc, the spawn of Magtheridon himself. And what if...what if...

"No!"

What Shahra was beginning to suspect was too horrific to consider, even more so than her pursuer grabbing her by the arm and throwing her to the ground. Pain coursed through her body in the blow, but she was glad for it. Pain occupied her mind and kept it focussed on the here and now than on...well, other things. Of course, it was for this reason that she left herself completely open to a ceremonial blade the fel orc brought downwards, wrapped in the dark blue magic that surrounded his form, but with Ardelan barging into him, it was a moot point.

"Dammit donkey ears, if I say run, I mean it!" the draenei yelled, blocking a shadow bolt with the power of the Light."

"I think it's past that," the sin'dorei murmured, drawing out her own blade to face the fel orc. Not that he faced her in turn however-as focussed as he'd been on catching her, his attention was now centred on the Vindicator.

"Draenei..." he sneered, clearly using the term as an insult. "I've spilt your blood before and I'll do so again!"

"Perhaps, but that was in the past," Ardelan replied stoically, gripping his warhammer. "I ran at first, but now I see you for what you are. A snivelling jailor, binding a demon that provides you with power. Power without which your bastard kind would be nothing. In the end, you're nothing more than-..."

It was hard to say who struck first. Shahra could see that the draenei's words had struck a nerve in the fel orc, prompting him to channel his magic, but Ardelan had charged into him before he could strike him. However, that didn't stop the bolt from being cast and reaching a target...a target that happened to be a blood elf that was sent flying backwards as the energy struck her chest.

"Ooff!"

It was like being winded, albiet with a faint burning sensation where the blow had landed. Not too incapacitating, but certainly enough to distract Ardelan and allow the jailor to lash out at him with his blade, drawing blue blood in a gash across his cheek.

"Just as you deserve," the fel orc sneered. "You'll be on the ground with your friend soon."

The burning spreading, like ants crawling under her skin, Shahra had a hard time getting to her feet, let alone hearing Ardelan's response. Then again, it was debatable whether he even uttered one. Her vision blurring, all she saw were two figures wrestling, slamming each other into the walls of Hellfire's underbelly, magic everywhere and warhammer outstretched, yet neither making contact with the other.

"Ardelan..." the blood elf rasped, staggering towards the two, grasping her blade. "Hold him...I can..."

"Shahra, get back! Now!"

The sin'dorei immediately came to a halt and it was just as well she did, a bolt hitting the floor before her as the jailor let out a roar that only one of his kind could make. A roar that, in an instant, reminded her of Tartarus.

_It's Fort Elron all over again._

Well, almost. This fel orc relied on fel magic rather than fel strength to do battle, but he was just as deadly. The air around smelt like gunpowder, albiet gunpowder that was inherently _wrong_. Clearly Ardelan thought so too, his nose screwed up in disgust.

"Shahra, get out of here," the draenei yelled. "It's too dangerous for you."

The blood elf opened her mouth to respond, only to let out a yelp as some of her hair was incinerated by a nearby bolt. She had to admit, Ardelan had a point-he was fine for now, his close proximity to the fel orc preventing stray bolts of magic hitting him and even if they did, his armour (much thicker than hers) and Light powers would grant him some protection. But to simply leave him?

"Sharha, Leo sent me to find you!" the draenei yelled, as if reading her mind. "So get out of her now and don't keep the guy waiting!"

"Leo?!" the blood elf exclaimed. "Why would he be-..."

"You know why! I know why! But he doesn't know why and if you don't find him, that lack of knowledge is going to get him killed!"

It was almost funny how Ardelan was speaking of Leo's possible death given how high _his _chances were of dying, but Shahra didn't notice. She knew...what exactly? What did Ardelan know, or at least thought he knew, that she didn't?

_But what about me? In the end, what do I know?_

Right then, right there, with light and dark doing battle, Shahra realized how little she knew. She didn't know what Magtheridon meant, she didn't know why A'dal had taken an interest in her, she didn't know...well, a lot of things. But fingering the same medallion the naaru had given her, what the blood elf _did _know was that Leo would understand. Right now, with Ardelan engaged in mortal combat, he was all she had to hold onto, the only link to something approaching normality.

And giving a last, regretful look at her draenei friend, Shahra prepared to follow the link to its source.

* * *

Ardelan disliked stalemates.

Maybe it was to do with being a draenei, locked in a no-win scenario against the Burning Legion with only vague promises from a naaru that one day the demons would be sent back to the hell that spawned them. Maybe it was because he wanted to get things done, to get results. Or maybe it was because stalemates included being locked in close quarters with an orc warlock, with neither combatant able to get the upper hand.

"Ragh!" exclaimed the fel orc (name Keli'dan apparently), seemingly as frustrated as Ardelan felt. "Hold still draenei. Hold still and let me-..."

Ardelan drowned the fel orc's voice out. He had more important things to worry about and vague threats didn't come close to them. The shadow bolts the brute was casting however, bolts that _did _come close to him, were another story however.

The stalemate was what was keeping the bolts from hitting the Vindicator, though they were also what were keeping him from delivering the judgement of the Hand of Argus. He and the fel orc were of roughly equal strength, and while grasping Keli'dan's wrists as they wrestled ensured the fel magic hit everything but the caster's intended target, it also meant that the Light-wielder couldn't use his warhammer or any other ability granted by the naaru. In the end, as much as the draenei hated to admit it, he'd have to stoop to Keli'dan's level to break the deadlock.

"This isn't going anywhere," the draenei sneered, bringing his face close to the fel orc's shrouded visage. "Why don't you just slink back to your pet prisoner?"

"Don't talk to me about slinking, draenei..." responded Keli'dan, his voice laced with venom. "Not when it's all your bastard race did for decades, hiding in the shadows rather than facing the Horde directly."

"Then watch me do it now."

Letting out a prayer to the Light, Ardelan charged forward. He didn't immediately break his grip with the jailor, but slamming the beast against the stone wall, he took his chances. Keli'dan was stunned. And however momentarily the effect might be, it would be enough time to grasp his hammer and reduce the bastard's head to a bloody pulp. Or, at least it wouldn't have been if a shadow bolt hadn't made contact with him, sending Ardelan flying back into the opposite wall.

"Fool!" exclaimed the fel orc, clearly not stunned at all. "You think brute force can stop me? You think I have not retained my strength as jailor to Magtheridon? Even now, your race is as arrogant as ever!"

Ardelan opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't manage. His armour had protected his body, but the metal had been twisted inwards, making it hard to breathe. In fact, it was hard to do anything physical right now. And while the Vindicator knew that it wouldn't take him that long to recover, he also knew that it would take Keli'dan even less time to summon enough energy to reduce him to a pile of ash.

_That could be problematic..._

What was even _more _problematic was that the warlock had apparently come to the same conclusion. Ardelan wasn't sure what he was doing apart from chanting something in what sounded like Eredun, but given the fire forming above him, he had a pretty good idea. And, hiding his smile, it gave the draenei his own idea. If the brute was channelling fire, than perhaps he'd fight it with his own fire. Or rather, the power of the Light. Light channelled in a last ditch effort to erect a divine shield, sheltering him from the effects of the blast. A blast that, while leaving Ardelan unscathed, did a number on the foundations of the passageway.

"By Dranosh (_"heart of Draenor"_)! Keli'dan exclaimed, watching the ceiling begin to give way. "What have you done?!"

Ardelan remained silent. He'd only just got his breath back and wasn't going to use it for a waste of flesh and bone, especially one who didn't even have the brains to follow him to the other side of the imminent ceiling collapse. A collapse that cut off the Vindicator and warlock from each other, their only connection being muffled sound. Sound that on Keli'dan's part, was simple curses.

_Sure is wordy for a jailor... _Ardelan thought to himself, leaning against the wall to rest, the entire passageway smelling of dust and magic. _Maybe Magtheridon provides more conversation than just curses. Or maybe curses are the only way the two can communicate_.

The draenei knew that he was distracting himself from the fact that he'd essentially fled the battle, that the fel orc had a right in a sense to shame him. Still, it didn't weigh too heavily. As Keli'dan had said, the sons and daughters of Argus had fled before the Legion and when they could no longer do that, they hid. Only now, with their Azerothian allies could they fight back and reclaim Outland. It wasn't a process that would occur overnight and besides, Keli'dan was irrelevant. The Blood Furnace had been disabled by the Scryers so...so...

_Shahra!_

It was a loose connection, the blood elf having only just joined Voran'thel's faction, but it was enough to remind the draenei as to why he'd been fighting alone. And while part of him wished the battle could continue, that wasn't worth a friend of his _dying _alone, nor was it Leo being peeved at him as a result. As such, picking up his warhammer, Ardelan set off. Every journey began with a single step. And while he'd lost count of his, he was still willing to keep on walking.

* * *

"Coward! Vermin! Crawl into the darkness, for it will claim you if I do not do so beforehand!"

It barely registered in Keli'dan's mind that there was a strong chance of this occurring, that if the blueskin was to fall this day, he didn't rank very highly in the list of possible causes. That was what came from launching shadow bolt after shadow bolt into the pile of rocks his burning nova had caused. Such was his desire, his _need _to finish the job the Horde started a lifetime ago that it didn't even occur to him that it was a useless gesture. It would take far more powerful magic to get through this and having used most of his, the fel orc wasn't about to provide it.

_I...I need rest..._

Defeatist words, but the warlock's body followed suit regardless. Wheezing in the dark, bringing in dry air to his weary form, the fel orc was reminded of a human saying he'd learnt during the Second War, taken from one of their seafaring nations (Kul Tiras? Gilneas? Whatever, all human names sounded the same anyway), said saying that at times, it was perfectly acceptable to crush a fly with a sledgehammer. In an exception to the rule, Keli'dan found himself agreeing with such words. There were some foes, some _vermin _that deserved nothing less than full annihilation, even to the point where the means used to ensure their destruction were more than sufficient. And much to his humiliation, while the draenei was such an individual, he had escaped Keli'dan's proverbial hammer and left him without a pick to clear the way.

_Coward. Vermin. I'll...oh, what use are words. I'll get this done myself._

The words felt hollow and if he'd said them out loud, would have sounded hollow as well. But in the end, it was irrelevant. What little magic he had left was not to be wasted. The hellfire was quenched in an instant, drowned out by a far greater one. And recognising this in an instant, seeing and hearing the wielder approach, Keli'dan felt compelled not to change this.

"I've visited a relic of the past, only to find that his jailor is no better," the figure sneered, walking past the fel orc with no hint of acknowledgement apart from his words. "Perhaps your time has ended, Keli'dan."

"My lord, please-..."

"Fear not, warlock," the fel orc's superior declared, studying the cave in before him. "Were I to execute you now, I suppose I'd be setting double standards. Why, I'd have to execute every incompetent commander on this piece of rock. And that...well, sounds like too much effort, wouldn't you say?"

Keli'dan nodded ferverrantly, all thoughts of the draenei forgotten. There were some people that you just didn't disagree with. And as few and far between as they were, his master was among them.

"I thought not. Now run along little orc. What I seek is beyond these rocks. And neither Heaven nor earth will prevent me from finding it."

* * *

_I can't win this._

Four words. Four simple words that, if Captain Leonard Ragoa had uttered more than two decades ago, would have resulted him being very sore at best and peeling vegetables at worst. "Can't" wasn't a word that was encouraged by the Alliance in the Second War, perhaps due to the sneaking suspicion throughout most of it that perhaps victory was impossible, that the Horde could not be stopped and the northern lands of the Eastern Kingdoms would meet the same fate as their southern counterpart. Leo didn't know. However, letting injuries and fatigue get to him, struggling to stay alive against Kargath Bladefist, he could imagine how High Command had felt before the tide had turned in Azeroth's favour.

"Come on, come on..." murmured Kargath, as if genuinely disappointed that Leo couldn't land a blow. "Is that all you can muster?"

Gasping for breath as he parried a lazy blow from the fel orc that could have been much faster, the human didn't trust himself to speak. He was tired...so tired that it was survival instinct alone that was keeping him standing. Adrenalin had been used up long ago and unless some magic user came along, he wasn't going to get a refill anytime soon.

"Pathetic," sneered Kargath, sidestepping a vertical motion from Leo's sword-a motion that no trained swordsman would ever undertake in these circumstances. "You're hardly any better than my fallen brothers."

Wheezing while trying to put some distance between himself and the fel orc, Leo would have loved to claim that it was the Kargath who was the fallen one. However, he had even less breath now than he did a few seconds ago so unless he could communicate monosyllabically, it wasn't really worth speaking. Not when there was a good chance that his head could be separated from his body if his foe wanted to end the duel here and now.

_Do I even care?_

Deep down, Leo...didn't know. He knew what he was fighting for and believed in it, but he was just one cog in the machine, part of a system yet not indispensible. And on the personal level, what was there? He'd been stranded in this wasteland for twenty-three years-there was nothing to go back to on Azeroth, no friends or family after all this time, likely either dead or, in light of what he'd heard about the Third War, undead. So right here, right now, on this shattered world, what was there to fight for?

Seconds later, he had an answer.

Although his vision was blurry, his eyelids low as if to prompt rest, the captain was able to see a change in Kargath. One moment he was bored, arrogant, seemingly ready to put his pinkskin foe out of his misery and then go on to do...well, whatever murderers did in their free time. The next his eyes were burning with something more than bloodlust, his expression composed of curiosity rather than arrogance. In an instant, something had changed. Something had altered the Bladefist's mindset. And while Leo could see this, he could not for the life of him work out what.

_Wha...did I do something? _the man wondered. _My pants fell down? My cuts stopped bleeding. My...oh._

It was this internal realization that led to the second stage of the realization that was permeating every aspect of the Shattered Halls. Kargath was interested in something, but not Leo. His gaze, from blazing red eyes to the dry air before them, wasn't centred on his human foe. No...his gaze was on something _behind _him. Or, as Leo discovered by craning his neck around, some_one_. An individual who was both the first person he wanted to see, but in light of the presence of a skilled, bloodthirsty warrior, also the last.

Shahra Dreamsinger.

_Shahra? What in the Light's name are you doing here?_

Given the perplexed look on the blood elf's face, she wasn't sure either. Standing by an open hatch, it seemed that she'd climbed up a ladder from below. What she was doing down there was beyond Leo given that she was meant to be with the Scryers who were assaulting the Blood Furnace above, but the question would have to wait. A far more pressing question had to be answered, one centred on why Kargath was staring at her not with hatred nor contempt, but with...well, something that seemed to be a mix of genuine curiosity and, even more inexplicably, recognition.

_Damn that girl...she got a thing with fel orcs or something?_

It was a bad joke and Leo knew it. From all he'd heard, Tartarus was a monster, a being who'd come close to killing Ardelan and even closer to killing Shahra. And watching Kargath's visage change, his mouth tightening, his eyes brighter, his breath increasing in depth and pace, Leo realized, to his horror, that the fel orc was about to follow suit.

_Oh no. Oh no. On Light, please no..._

"**Ragh!" **roared the fel orc, his bellows shaking earth and stone. "Back to the shadows with you!"

Leo had no idea what Kargath meant. Nor did Shahra seem to for that matter. Unfortunately, still catching his breath, he couldn't ask. Or, at least he couldn't ask using more than single words. But that didn't matter. There was only one word he wanted to say. A word that, in this moment of recognition of what he had to live for in Outland, he let out to match the fel orc's echoing symphony.

"**No!"**

And thus began the music. Music with Kargath charging the blood elf with the human behind him, caught in an accelerando. And at the last moment, darting forward, getting Shahra out of the way along with the polyphony she represented, he brought the music into syncopation. Bringing up his sword to parry Kargath's fist, the latter having vastly greater strength, the melody ended. A melody that ended with the shattering of steel as force and velocity were brought into play and the weakness of flesh exposed. Particularly around the chest and stomach as they were cleaved open, blood pouring out in a recapitulation of the hatred between man and orc. Hatred that, as usual, had the children of Quel'Thalas standing by.

But not this time.

Coughing up blood as collapsed onto the stone floor, Leo wasn't sure what followed in the seconds after he'd begun what would be his last few minutes in this world. Nor did Kargath for that matter, standing dumbfounded that it was a human, not a sin'dorei who was lying on the ground before him. But with his intended foe sticking a blade into him over and over again, crying and screaming in dissonance, the warchief struggling to respond, he had a good idea. An idea that seemed to fade as quickly as his lifespan, stumbling a few feet in an effort to retreat, only to plummet down the same hole that Shahra had crawled out of.

_How appropriate, _thought the captain, feeling his own thoughts begin to fade. Thoughts that were increasingly being focussed on the one kneeling before him, albiet with ever diminishing clarity.

"Leo..." whispered the elf, getting even more blood on her hand as she fumbled to get the human's chestplate off, revealing a sea of red in the tunic underneath. "Oh gods...oh _gods_..."

"Leave it..." her friend murmured, grasping her hands in an effort to prevent Shahra wasting her time along with hoping to get some warmth for his own body. "It's too late..."

"No, it's not. I can...I can..."

"Donkey ears, my bloody stomach's been sliced open," Leo laughed, coughing up even more blood as he did so. "I'll be drowning in my own blood soon, baring infection in my gut getting to me first. Or something. Usually let magic sort these things out."

It was strange really...he was the one that was dying, but from what he could tell, Shahra was the one throwing hysterics. Still, he had so little feeling left that maybe it was natural. He couldn't move his legs, his head was faint and Shahra's generic claims that "you'll be all right" were getting further and further away. Well, at least that could attributed to her realizing the hopelessness of the situation. But finding himself not too fond of silence either, he willed himself to say something...anything.

"So..." whispered the human. "This is it..."

Shahra nodded softly, her tears welling in with his blood. Right now, her grief seemed to be beyond words.

"Talkative one, aren't you?" Leo grinned, fighting back the urge to cough as he did so. "Well then. I guess I'll take the plunge and say, no, I don't blame you for getting in Kargath's way. Yes, I consider you a true friend, worthy of calling me Leonard. And while you can be a pain in the ass at times and you would have never made it this far without me, I wouldn't have made it here without you either."

Shahra nodded. "You're right..." she whispered. "You're absolutely right. You..." she paused for breath, breathing heavily in an effort to keep her jaw from trembling too much and suddenly throwing her arms around the human's neck, drawing herself in as close as possible. "Oh gods Leo, what can I do? You're the best friend I ever had! You...you...I...I feel that I...oh gods, please don't go! Please! I...I don't want to be alone again..."

If his time in this world wasn't dropping faster than a rock dropped from a tower, Leo might have pointed out that, as he was the one who was dying, it should be him who had the right to make such a speech. But he didn't. Whatever he said next could be his last words. So, stroking his friend's hair gently, he said them.

"Shahra, listen closely..." he rasped. "There's something I have to tell you. Something...something I should have said when we first met."

Shahra remained silent. Either that was a sign for him to go ahead or she hadn't heard him. Regardless, "Leonard" uttered them.

Eight words. Eight simple words.

And letting out his final breath, his last ones.

* * *

This is how it feels to be Shahra Dreamsinger.

In an instant, everything's changed. In one instant, the moment between life and death, your circumstances have changed. One second your friend, nay, _best _friend was alive, however barely. The next, he's dead, living on only in your memories. Memories that you fear will fade like all others prior to arriving on this Light-forsaken piece of rock. You want to remember him, yet fear you cannot.

The second emotion you feel is guilt. Guilt that he gave his life to save yours. Guilt from being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And above all, guilt knowing that Leo giving his life for yours was not a fair trade.

But it's as you wipe away tears barely dry, only to find more streaming down your cheeks as you continue to clutch the deceased, that the most prominent emotion grips you-grief. Grief at the loss of a friend. Grief at the end of life. Grief in the knowledge that while your life will continue, it will not be the same as it was over the last few weeks (a lifetime for all intents and purposes) and will never improve in the same way it could have had your friend still been alive. And it's only when you feel a hand on your shoulder, firm, yet not comforting, that your grief only slightly subsides. Curiosity and fear have taken hold of you and as distraught as you are, you cannot ignore them any more than the voice of the one whose hand is upon you.

"Don't worry Shahra. You'll see plenty of death before you join him."

Twelve words. Twelve simple words that have the completely opposite effect as Leo's eight. Letting out a gasp, you turn to face your foe, yet cannot. A teleportation spell has been cast and you have been taken for the ride. A short ride, one that deposits you by a large stone with a mystical glowing symbol, like fire on rock, but an unpleasant one. Your stomach is turning, you're struggle to breathe is stemming from more than just sobbing and you're with the very last person in this existence that you want to be with.

"Well Shahra?" he sneers. "Aren't you pleased to see me?"

You don't answer. You can't answer. All thought, all control has left you. And in a sense, of what remains of it, perhaps this is not surprising.

After all, Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider tends to have this effect on people.


	25. Virtue of Truth

**Denial**

**Chapter 25: Virtue of Truth**

Leo was dead.

Despite having seen plenty of death in his life and knowing that he would continue to see it for as long as he lived, Ardelan found himself overwhelmed by such a fact. Overwhelmed to the extent that his knees hit the cold stone ground, disbelief being the only reason as opposed to exhaustion or the weight of his armour.

_By the Light..._the draenei mused to himself, staring at the broken form of his fallen friend. _How did this happen?_

Technically that was a rhetorical question. With blood having pooled up around the man's chest and stomach, it was clear where the killing blow had come from. Even for a species as strong as the draenei, such wounds were almost always fatal in the absence of arcane or holy power and guaranteed the victim a painful death and at times, a slow one. How long the human had lain here, waiting for death to take him was unknown to the Vindicator but he was willing to bet that his friend hadn't gone quietly.

_Or maybe he did. Maybe in the end he could muster enough dignity._

Breathing heavily in a combination of regaining his breath after battling Keli'dan and fighting back the urge to let out his grief, Ardelan considered what he knew. The Light was mainly there to provide guidance in how one lived their life, to understand their connection between self and the universe. The human Church of the Light stressed the three virtues of respect, tenacity and compassion, but Leo had never struck Ardelan has being particularly devout, even by human standards. Still, that didn't worry him. If there was a hereafter where souls were judged, Ardelan guessed that actions were worth far more than the scale of belief. And if the human before him wasn't with angels right now, then he'd be willing to bet that most deceased humans went to Hell after death. In the end though, he'd never find out. Resurrection was beyond his abilities and tended to only work on the recently deceased, which, as the lack of warmth told him, the captain was most certainly not.

_Alright, so that's _what _happened, _thought Ardelan, his mind telling him to get going and his heart telling it to piss off in return. _So the question remains as to how it happened..._

To the draenei's disappointment, as if hoping to be with his fallen friend longer, the question as to _what _happened was easy to answer. Having climbed a ladder into the Shattered Halls, Ardelan had casually walked past the barely breathing fel orc at the bottom of it. Kargath Bladefist had shown no mercy to the hundreds of draenei he'd killed decades ago and Ardelan was of no mind to extend any to him either. Almost appropriately, someone had stabbed him in the back, leaving him barely breathing. Still, given the nature of Leo's wound, Kargath was also the one who had killed the human.

_Odd though... _thought the Vindicator to himself, the question of what happened no longer as clear. _How could one foe get their enemy so close to death, only to be struck down in turn? It certainly couldn't have happened at the same time..._

Had Leo been struck down by the fel orc, only for someone to avenge him? Certainly there was evidence to back this up in that Leo's eyes were closed and his face wet. From experience, Ardelan found that most people who died like this died with their eyes open, wanting to stay alive for as long as possible on instinct even when they knew that death was inevitable. Someone closing his eyes and shedding tears over such a task wasn't too hard to believe. But who was it? Certainly not the surrounding greenskins on account of them being dead. And from experience, orcs didn't cry much. They tended to make others weep.

_Stop it Ardelan. This isn't the time for prejudice._

Sighing, Ardelan realized that his conscience was right, not to mention the fact that it wasn't time for _any _of this. Leo was dead and he couldn't change that fact. All that remained was to keep fighting to ensure that as few other good men and women died as possible. And intending to honour his friend's wishes the last time they'd spoken, that included...Shahra.

_The blood elf, _thought the draenei, the facts coming together. _She passed this way. And coming across Leo like this...well, I'd probably end up crying too._

Shahra's presence would have explained why both Kargath and Leo had been defeated, though that didn't explain where she was now. That was something the Vindicator would have to get on, though not without performing one last task. Kneeling down beside his friend, Ardelan drew out some a flask of oil, pouring it over the human's broken form. Originally taken as a weapon in anticipation of clustered fel orcs on the Hellfire Ramparts, it would serve a different purpose. Taking Leo's body was too dangerous, but he'd be damned if he'd let it stay here to be defiled. So if setting it alight and watching the flames flicker in silence made up a funeral, then so be it.

_Farewell friend. May you find the peace that this world never gave you._

For a long time, Ardelan stood there, feeling yet not sensing the flame's heat. For a long time he reflected on what was and what could have been. For a long time he gave his friend the respect he deserved. But knowing that all things came to an end, knowing that others could be meeting their ends as he stood here, he picked up his warhammer. Shahra was out there somewhere. And right now, Ardelan was determined to honour his friend's last request and ensure that she didn't join him.

* * *

"Well Shahra? Are you pleased to see me or not?"

For a few moments, the former high elf didn't answer, though that didn't really come as a surprise. First teleportations were never pleasant, even if you had someone to guide you through it. And while Prince Sunstrider liked to think that he'd done a good job, the blood elf before him was probably a bit wary as to where the help had come from.

_And can you blame her? _wondered the sin'dorei, silently cursing himself for letting things come to this. _She's had to travel all the way from Tempest Keep to Hellfire Citadel when she should have never got out of the Netherstorm in the first place._

"Why are you here?" Shahra asked eventually, putting one hand to what he supposed counted for a sword while keeping another stretched outwards, as if for balance. "Why aren't you skulking away in-..."

"Your footwork's wrong."

"What?" asked the girl, clearly confused.

"Your footwork," repeated Kael. "You're reaching for your sword, but walking around like that, you won't last long in a fight. And keep in mind that you're without any friends to save you."

_That _clearly hit a nerve, judging by the girl's reaction-a slight twitch in her eyes, a tightening of her fists. Kael couldn't be sure how long his agent had been dead but...

_Wait. Does she even _know _what he was? Well, no matter. It may not even come to that._

"I think you know why I'm here," Kael declared, beginning his own pacing. "I'm here for the same reason that I confronted you back in Tempest Keep."

"Oh, great," answered Shahra, standing her ground but still keeping her eyes on her ruler. "So I suppose you're going to present me with an ultimatum and have a fel orc nearly kill me if I refuse?"

"Tartarus, as I understand, is lying dead somewhere in Fort Elron," said Kael firmly, feeling some slight regret over that fact. "So no, I don't have a lapdog to...convince you of anything. On the other hand, you have no bodyguards to do your fighting for you and I could save myself a lot of time by incinerating you here and now and sending you off to join your friend."

Letting out a roar akin to the animals she'd been consorting with, the girl charged the Sunstrider prince. Turning himself immaterial, the result was indeed as if an animal had attacked one as mighty as he-nothing.

"But I'm not going to do that," said Kael. "At least not yet. Because while I've lost much sleep over you, something that even Hyperion noticed, I also have time on my hands."

"Think what you want, _Kael_," Shahra snarled. "I'm sure the Sons of Lothar will be glad to have your head."

"Perhaps, but they'd have to be here to claim it," Kael sneered. "Look around you girl. Where are your friends now?"

The former high elf did as she was told, the blood mage keeping his eyes on her the whole time. He already knew what she did-the combined human, blood elf, draenei and orc forces had withdrawn, having received word from the Scryers that their work here was done. Although out in the open at the base of the citadel, Kael knew they would be free from interruption.

"You see?" the prince said, taking note of the girl's lowered resolve. "Your friends have gone, withdrawn from a successful mission. And even if they _were _here, I wouldn't put too much faith in their abilities. It's only thanks to me that they were able to storm Hellfire at all."

There...it was said. Now all that remained was for Shahra Dreamsinger to work out the ramifications of it. That in turn would lead her to see Illidari power for what it was and join willingly and/or realize that she was on the losing side. The end result however, was somewhere in-between.

"The defences..." the blood elf whispered. "You lowered them...you allowed the Scryers easy access while leaving the Sons of Lothar and Aldor to face the bulk of Hellfire's forces."

Kael chuckled. "Don't act so surprised Shahra. _Someone _had to lead the defence of this fortress and I wasn't going to leave it in the hands of Magtheridon or a fel orc."

"But why? Why leave your own fortress vulnerable."

"Because some sacrifices have to made Shahra. You should be flattered that they were made for your sake."

There...that had done it. The former high elf was in the debt of her enemy and to turn the situation to his advantage even further, she didn't know why. The sin'dorei side of her would seek strength, the quel'dorei side of her would seek knowledge and only one who had made the complete transition between the two could provide the answers. So in the end, either she would follow suit or Kael'thas Sunstrider would clean up the remains of the most costly experiment he'd ever carried out.

"I think now you're beginning to realize that, like when we first met, I have all the aces," declared the blood mage. "So allow me to reiterate myself for someone who possesses the playing hand. You're clinging to a lost cause, whether it be the delusion that you're still a quel'dorei or that you have a place amongst those that your former kind cling to for protection. You've seen that they're barely able to protect you and that whatever potential you have for taking care of yourself is being squandered in the process. And for what? You know your kind now, know that if you return to Azeroth you'll never be accepted by anyone but those who dwell in Quel'Thalas. You could have a place here Shahra. I don't know what that puddle in the sewers of Fort Elron reflected, but any evidence of your supposed former life has evaporated along with it. Don't sacrifice yourself for the pride of what amounts to history."

Kael'thas felt rather proud of himself, even though he'd let slip on some things that he'd prefer to keep secret. He'd been coached in debating by his father and tutors in preparation for life as a ruler, not to mention the many arguments he'd had with Eldin. Watching Shahra now, watching her resemble members of the Council of Six when he'd got them by the balls (except Krasus for some reason-he was an odd one), he knew what her actions would be, or at least narrow them down. Presenting her own counter-argument was possible, but even she had to realize that she was going down the same ineffectual path as she had in Tempest Keep. Perhaps she would give up here and now and save the prince a great deal of time and effort. Or perhaps, as the case indeed was, she would attempt to skirt around the subject.

"Strong words Kael," she murmured, fingering the medallion that hung around her neck as she did so. "But not enough to change my mind from what someone told me once. It's not what you are that matters. It's who you are."

Kael raised an eyebrow. He hadn't really taken note of the medallion until now, but watching the former high elf finger it, the connection between the object and her words was most telling. And it was a connection he could use to his advantage.

"My words may not be as strong as you want Shahra, but yours are exceptionally weak," declared the blood mage. "After all, they're not even your own words, not even your own _idea_."

"What?"

"Someone gave you that medallion Shahra, along with the same bullshit you're popping out now. And it's no surprise really. Right now, faced in the moment of truth that only I can provide a true place in this world for you, you repeat something, _anything _to shy from that truth. This isn't quel'dorei behaviour Shahra, and by the Sunwell, it's not of the sin'dorei either. In the end, all you can do is repeat the rhetoric of others."

"Leo's rhetoric was stronger than anything you could deliver!"

Kael blinked in surprise. The human? That was...surprising, all things considered, not only in words but in gifts. But there was something about that artefact, something he couldn't put his finger on. Perhaps the human didn't give her the medallion, but words he'd said to her were reminiscent of the ones she'd received along with the jewellery. Either way, they were both null and void, as was her friendship with the man.

"Yes, I'm sure he delivered strong rhetoric..." said Kael slowly. "The same rhetoric he showed you along with his callousness in Tempest Keep."

"That...that changed," said Shahra awkwardly, clearly not liking the memories any more than the ones that had kept surfacing.

"Yes of course it did. That's to be expected really. Not all magic lasts forever."

"Magic? What magic?"

"The magic that flowed in his veins," declared Kael. "The magic I gave him in Tempest Keep in preparation for his meeting with you, just as much as leaking information about Magtheridon so he could choose a direction before dying. The magic that wore off over time and consequently gave you the impression that you were actually becoming friends. The magic that Hyperion probably discovered in Fort Elron. Still, it was probably running dry by then so maybe he didn't. Certainly he was enough of an idiot to let you escape."

Shahra looked shocked, perhaps even on the verge of tears. As delusional as she was, even she could put two and two together. And although he clearly had the advantage at this point, Kael was willing to let her speak. Sometimes it was easier to let people destroy themselves then do it for them.

"What you're saying..." said the girl slowly. "You're saying that...he was influenced? His personality altered?"

"To an extent, yes," answered Kael'thas truthfully. "He was an agent of mine in a sense, no matter how unknowingly. Someone to show you the Alliance's true nature was needed to turn you back towards Tempest Keep when you escaped-an escape that I allowed through ordering Hyperion to stand down by the way, thank you very much. Still, the human failed in the end, so what of it?"

"What of it?" Shahra asked, her anger rising for some reason. "What _of it_? Only manipulation and lies! Only the belief that you can toy with people and-..."

"Shahra, I've been with you the whole way!" Kael yelled, letting his own anger get the better of him. "I was there when you coughed up blood! I was there when you had your flashbacks, providing a voice of reason!"

"Wait a minute..._you _were the voice I heard?"

"Yes, I was the bloody voice!" Kael bellowed, now flexing his own fists. "I established a link through what runs in your veins, what I gave you when I saved your life after pulling Tartarus away and giving you a second, if extended chance to join me! I was there your entire journey, watching as you wasted your life and nearly lost it against everything from naga to dragon turtles! The only time I wasn't with you was briefly in Honour Hold when...well, whatever in magic's name happened that has apparently given you a nod in the wrong direction!"

Kael knew that he'd played his final card, had used tone and rage as a means to press a point. Shahra owed everything to him, from a voice in her ear when she needed it (not that she ever listened in _any _of those flashbacks) to her very survival. And as expected, her reaction was most telling

"You did this..." she said slowly. "Why? What possible use am I to you? Why spend so much time and energy over me?"

Kael chuckled, his rage abetting slightly. "That _is _the question isn't it Shahra? One that's even worth answering. And in respect for your oh so _brilliant _intellect, I'm willing to give you some of the truth."

The look on the girl's face indicated that she would have preferred the whole truth. Still, that was truly the last resort, a testament to actions that Kael felt slightly guilty over. Well, no matter. With any luck, despite her unfortunate encounter with Magtheridon and the truths he'd hinted at, the final truth wouldn't be needed. All that had to be given was the basic truth and with it, the realization that the quel'dorei's destiny was to join their enlightened kin.

"The truth, Shahra, is that you're an experiment. Everything from Tempest Keep to this very moment has been an experiment from everything to psychology and power."

"Kael, what on Azeroth are you talking ab-..."

"I'm concerned, Shahra. Concerned that the high elves will never see the light and embrace their heritage. Concerned that they'll wither and die, leaving me with the knowledge that hundreds if not thousands of elves perished because they never saw an alternative to denial and antiquated beliefs. Concerned that as I hover between Illidan and another...benefactor, that there'll be no room for them in the new order I will help create."

Shahra remained silent. So did Kael'thas for that matter, the only sound being that of wind and, for some reason, thunder. He continued regardless.

"The question however, was whether they were worth the time, whether it was wise to even try to save them. So, in the end, I decided on an experiment, a simulation if you will. A test to see whether the conditions high elves face every day could be replicated and whether the sin'dorei alternative would be taken and under what level of antagonism the option would be perused. And you, Shahra, were experiment a."

"Me?" the girl whispered.

Kael nodded. "Your interrogation with me was the first stage, whether simple truths and philosophy would sway you. They did not and for a moment, I gave up then and then. Still, like an author wanting to extend a chapter to a novel, I stepped in, saving you from Tartarus. I healed you and gave you what was needed for a later stage if required."

"The second stage of the experiment was to reveal Azerothian antagonism, specifically from Captain Ragoa. Early on he showed you true human nature and indifference, how low those animals are in comparison to us. I had hoped you'd realize the truth and come back to me. But you didn't. You followed. You stayed with him and no amount of flashbacks I triggered could change your mind."

Kael knew he'd taken a bit of a risk there. The flashbacks went hand in hand with coughing up blood and _that _was something he'd rather not dwell on. Still, given the shocked look in those lovely green eyes (no longer blue, thank you very much), it was clear that the former high elf wasn't too keen on dwelling on it either.

"The third stage of the experiment was in Fort Elron. The vial I gave you in Tempest Keep not only healed you and gave you enough magic to stop you from having to meditate, but it was also the key to unlocking your future. You ceased to be quel'dorei and became sin'dorei. For a moment, when you saw your reflection in that pool, I dared to dream. A dream that you would realize what you were and follow suit."

"A blood elf," Shahra murmured.

"Exactly," said Kael'thas, pleased to see his protégée catching on. "But while you saw what you were, you still fought, still fled, still ran to those who would see you as nothing more but a means to an end, in this case, assaulting Hellfire. Even now, at the end of all things, you're clinging to your supposed past. Truth be told, this isn't stage four Shahra. I'd expected you to have turned or have died before a stage was needed. But since a stage _has _been reached, all I can tell you is the truth and hope you'll see reason, giving me enough incentive to keep trying to convert the rest of your former kind."

There, he'd said it. He'd given Shahra all the truth she needed to know, not to mention a glimpse at the power she could obtain. Surely she'd choose the logical option, choose to join the Illidari. Kael had to admit, while the girl had cost him much, he couldn't help but be a bit fond of her. Her journey wasn't something about destiny or providence, but it was a long and eventful one nonetheless and he felt proud that she'd come this far. Now all that remained was for her to end it. And she did...sort of.

"I know what you're trying to do, my prince," said Shahra slowly. "And the answer's still no."

Kael blinked. "What?"

"You heard me, _no_," repeated Shahra firmly. "And do you know why? It's because manipulation, even on this scale, can't control a person's heart and mind. I made friends on the journey you mapped out for me Kael. _Real _friends, the type who would risk their lives to save mine without a second thought, knowing that I would do the same for them in a heartbeat. You can claim that Leo acted how you wanted him to, but I know that he acted as _he _wanted himself to. You can claim that Ardelan's a draenei and therefore someone I can't trust, but I know that I wouldn't be alive without him. So whatever you think I owe you Kael, I owe even more to them. And with the firsthand knowledge that _who _you are is far more important than _what _you are, I can tell you that you can send your experiment to Hell."

Kael blinked, the wind picking up as he did. He didn't feel it however. Right now, he didn't feel _anything_, at least not in regards to conventional senses. Internally however, rage and denial coursed through him. Denial that his plan had failed, rage at Shahra's words. But some things remained the same. The knowledge that he had two choices. One choice, the easy one, was to end things now and reduce Shahra Dreamsinger to a pile of ashes. The second choice, the difficult one, would break the girl's spirit, but at least give him the chance of salvaging his actions and her former race. But to do that, he would have to reveal the truth. The final truth. A truth that he knew Shahra Dreamsinger, even if she chose to see the light, would never recover from.

Preparing one of the most complex spells he'd ever cast, Kael'thas Sunstrider prepared to show her the truth.

* * *

_Garmak...garmak..._

Anguish coursed through Kargath Bladefist's body, though not only of the physical kind. He was lak'tuk (_suffering_), weighed down by shame. And even if he could summon the physical strength to rise, to take arms against the one who had cast him down and the blueskinned wretch that past him, his mind would have held him back. A true orc of the true Horde, he knew it was in his blood, his _essence _to bring swift death to his enemies. But for one who had fallen to them, one who had been left alive as if under an act of mercy...the shame of it would probably kill him before the loss of blood.

_Miserable...insects... _thought the fel orc to himself, trying once again to get off the stone floor of the passageway situated under the Shattered Halls and like the past dozen times, failing. _Are they really so afraid to come down and finish the job?_

In a sense, it was a fair question. It was clear that the draenei didn't fear him, smug in the knowledge that his miserable race would now walk free in the lands that rightfully belonged to the Horde. The elf however, was a different story. It had only been through luck, underhand cowardice and whatever power grief gave her that allowed the paleskin to strike him down. And given how the grief had at least continued from what he could here, shedding tears over one who should be put to the torch along with the rest of his kind, finishing what she started was apparently not on her mind. Despicable really.

_But is it? What about what she is, or at least what she seemed to be?_

It was a valid question. Kargath had sensed what she was almost immediately, knew that despite the human's continued existence, the blood elf had to come first. He knew an abomination when he saw one, knew what had to be done. It was just a shame that the man had interceded, allowing the girl to pull off a move that the Bladefist knew he should have anticipated. Fel blood or not, you couldn't change what you were.

_But you can put an end to it... _thought the fel orc grimly, knowing that his time was ending. _All that's left is for me to wait for them in the darkest depths of Hell while my lok'tra _(traditional orc song sung about a battle) _to be composed, wait to-..._

"Here, drink this."

Kargath blinked, and slightly faster than he'd been doing so recently. Not from the embrace of death as life seeped out of him, but from surprise. Someone was here. Someone was offering aid. And like any true son of Draenor, he did his best to refuse.

"Drink it you miserable little insect before I rip your throat open and pour this into it!"

So startled was he by these words, it didn't even occur to Kargath that ripping open his throat would render the concept of aid null (and he'd torn open enough throats to know). All he knew was that something was being poured into his throat and as foul tasting but healing as it was, he couldn't do anything to stop it. The green liquid from the clear flask held by the clawed hand kept coming and Kargath was powerless to change that.

"Don't...do it..." the fel orc whispered hoarsely, wincing as the claws around his neck tightened their grip. "Let me die...with honour."

"Oh spare me the rhetoric Kargath, you're lucky to have escaped being fed to fel hounds, let alone being healed!" snapped the benefactor, his mindset clearly not in sync with his actions. "Besides, this is for utilitarian purposes only. Even if Hellfire has gone to the dogs, you're at least a resource I intend to keep."

Kargath wanted to say something at the least and stick a claw in this pig at the most. However, his bladed hands wouldn't move, nor would his mouth. He had no interest in the repulsive art of medicine (keeping those who should be dead alive? Disgusting!), but he'd got a few titbits here and there over the years, particularly in the Second War on the occasion where the Horde wanted to keep their captives alive. So while he could tell that healing potion had been poured down his throat, some form of sedative had been mixed in as well. And being as weak as he was right now, he had no chance of resisting it.

As such, it didn't take him long to slip into dreamless sleep.

As such, he didn't see his benefactor walk by him and climb the ladder.

And he _certainly_ didn't hear him talk about loose ends and how he was nearing them...

* * *

"_Where...where am I?"_

_An obvious, often repeated question, though if there was only one case that justified it, this would be it. And to both her relief and dread, a voice answered it._

"**A memory Shahra. One of my own, to be specific. And while you may have ignored the messages of your previous visions, I suggest you pay particular attention to this one."**

"_Kael'thas?" the blood elf whispered, feeling a chill down her spine as she did so. "Is that you?"_

"**Yes Shahra. Like all the other times when I provided you guidance and advice in the past. And even now, while you still bury your head in the sand like a kobold searching for gold, I'm still here. Because there's no knowledge to be gained in ignorance. There is only the truth I have shown you time and time again."**

_It was the classic case of a rock and a hard place and not only because Shahra was surrounded by the former. She wasn't sure what Kael had done outside the citadel, silvery magic extending from his hands and spreading over her. He'd indeed mentioned something about memories and truth, though in this case, it appeared the truth was indeed coming from his mouth. At this moment however, whether the truth still existed was another matter entirely._

Fat chance of that.

_Shahra suspected that she wasn't going to receive any information that would lure her into the Illidari prince's service. She was in, or at least observing what looked like a dungeon, similar to the one she'd been thrown into in Tempest Keep. However, the circle of blood elves before her didn't look like prisoners. Indeed, with robes of red and black and hoods to match, they looked like magic users. All except for the exception that was-..._

"_Tartarus!"_

_Stepping back in fear, Shahra cursed herself for making such an exclamation. There was no doubt that a fel orc was standing among the gathered warlocks, easily the tallest, most muscular and scantily clad individual in the room. And although he seemed ignorant of her presence, the former high elf could not help but feel a sense of dread. Here was the monster that had not only tried to kill her and nearly succeeded, but he'd enjoyed it too. And if he saw her, there was no doubt that he'd break ranks and attempt to do so once more._

I think...I think I'm in trouble...

"**But you're not," came the voice of the one who would claim to be her benefactor. "Remember, these are my memories, not the ones you think are yours. You're only here in what is less even than spirit."**

"_Your memories?" Shahra whispered, wondering what Kael'thas meant about her own. "But you're not here. How can I see them?"_

"**Magic is an ever-present field of energy Shahra, whether it be on Outland or on Azeroth after the implosion of the Well of Eternity. My physical form is close enough to this location for my memories to be transposed to the surrounding plane. That's why you are seeing these events from an independent point of view rather than from my own."**

_Remaining silent, Shahra cut back the jibe that seeing anything from the Sunstrider's point of view was the last thing she wanted. Because not only had Kael, or at least the Kael in this vision entered the chamber, but, partly because of this, she wanted to focus her attention on what was going on. Even if this was what Kael wanted her to see, something in the back of her mind told her it was good to pay attention. Something was up and the bundle the prince was holding in his arms was no exception. Especially considering that it was-..._

"_A girl?" Tartarus exclaimed, striding over to his superior and leering at the bundle below him. "You're putting your trust in a _girl_?"_

_Kael, the one Shahra was seeing at least, sighed. "Tartarus, you've earnt my trust and a position here. If you're going to lose it, make it for a reason other than moronic comments."_

_Given the murmurings of the assembled blood elves, it was clear that they weren't too keen on the fel orc's presence and would have been all too glad for such a reason to be provided. So would Shahra for that matter. Because while she was able to summon enough courage to walk over to the sin'dorei prince and gaze at what he held in his arms, she would have preferred it if she wasn't standing next to a barbarian while she did so._

Wow..._thought Shahra to herself, ignoring Tartarus's continued protests while she stared at the infant before her. _You're rather...small.

_A simple adjective and one that prompted the sin'dorei to revise her use of Common. Still, she wasn't quite sure how to address a newborn sleeping in the hands of a sociopath. Tartarus was right about it being a girl, though only the cheekbones gave any real indication and at so young at age, even that was speculative. But still, she knew. Somehow, she just _knew _the child's gender._

"_Kael, is this really necessary?" asked one of the magic users, a woman with a shining blue visage clad in black robes and armour. _

"_You doubting me Solarian?" asked the prince. _

"_No, not at all," answered the one named Solarian. "It's just...well, she's just a child and-..."_

"_And like many of our newborns, the result of an unwanted pregnancy," interrupted Kael, striding past the magic user to the centre of the circle her fellow wielders of magic had formed. "And this wasn't a random choice, Solarian. This child has the weakest mind but the strongest body-a perfect combination."_

_Tartarus murmured something about strong bodies, though Shahra barely heard. Her eyes were fixed entirely on the child in Kael's arms, extending a tiny hand as if to touch the parents who didn't want her. Something was happening and whatever it was, it couldn't be good._

Why in the name of the Light is Kael showing me this? _the former high elf wondered, watching Kael place the child on the floor and removing the cloth binding her as he did so. _Is this an example? Something that happens to those who oppose him?

_Somehow Shahra doubted it. The only threat this child could pose was if she was some kind of potential heir to the Sunstrider throne and if that was the case, the incumbent leader of the sin'dorei was choosing a very odd method of disposal. Usually such removals were kept discreet with as few witnesses as possible. Here however, Kael was making a speech of all things._

"_I thank you for taking part in this," said the prince sombrely. "I know not all of you believe as I do, that our wayward kin can be saved. However, I am thankful that you are at least contributing to that which could determine their potential future. And while this may seem a cruel, even unnecessary procedure, I assure you that I order it with the best of intentions."_

_Somehow Shahra doubted that. However, if any of the magic users had such thoughts, there was no sign. Their only actions was to begin chanting, channelling energy both silver and red."_

"_An ageing spell?" _

_Tartarus's voice caught Shahra's attention, the fel orc currently in conversation with his superior. _

"_Yes..." Kael murmured. "The same spell orc warlocks used on their young when battling the draenei, to gain more warriors to aid them. Still, this is a far more extreme version, not to mention the artificial memories."_

"_And she can survive that?"_

"_As I said Tartarus, she is strong physically. However, her mind is vulnerable and should have no trouble allowing the entry of the false memories."_

_Shahra felt ill. This was a child's life the two were talking about. A child who, as the energy surged into her, began screaming. Not in pain, not in terror, but _both_. And all the while, Kael looked on._

"_You...you monster," Shahra whispered, watching the infant struggled to escape the barrage of magic but fail. "Is this what you do to those who...who..."_

"**Who what?" **_the voice of the present Kael asked. _**"Think about it Shahra. Why would I do this if I didn't have good reason?"**

_The former high elf could think of any number of reasons but like before, didn't voice such insults. Because something had her attention. Something that was linked to the newborn. A newborn that, to her horror, was ageing by the second._

By the gods...what's _happening?_

_Shahra didn't know. All she knew was that the girl was screaming. Screaming at becoming a toddler in a few seconds. Screaming at becoming a young child in a few minutes. And after a bit longer than that, going right through being a teenager to a young adult, blood trickling onto the cold stone floor as her body tried to compress adolescence to a few seconds. Only when the magic stopped did the screaming, leaving the naked form of an elf breathing softly into and a clothed elf that no-one could see breathing heavily, to understand what in the name of heaven and earth had just happened...and why she looked so familiar._

"_It's done, milord," said the one called Solarian, checking the girl's pulse after brushing aside long hair that was golden. "She will need time to recover, but you can begin your...experiment in a few weeks at the most."_

_Kael nodded. "Good. Then you may leave...all of you."_

"_All of you" was apparently a code. Because while the magic users filtered out without question, Solarian and Tartarus stayed without any protest from their ruler. Then again, so intent was he on checking the muscle and skin tone of his guinea pig, he may not have noticed._

"_Nice girl," said Solarian. "A shame we had to do this."_

"_You can blame her supposed people, not me," murmured Kael, withdrawing from his inspection. "Besides, we have more important things to worry about. Clothes, for one thing."_

"_And a name?" asked Tartarus curiously. "Your people give names at birth, do they not?"_

_Kael nodded, rising to his feet. "True, but the name isn't an issue. Her name was in the memories. I chose it long beforehand."_

"_And what is it?"_

_Shahra didn't want him to say it. Her heart was pounding, her brow was drenched in sweat and she was terrified. Something was about to happen, she knew it. And the girl...she was familiar for a reason. She was so familiar that there was only one explanation for it..._

"_I chose the name based on the fact that in her dreams, she'll sing to the tune I composed for her," said Kael smugly. "Hence my choice."_

Oh gods..._thought Shahra, wanting escape from this nightmare. _Oh gods oh gods oh gods...

"_Overall, the choice was simple. I decided to name her Shahra Dreamsinger."_

* * *

"No! It's not possible! It's not _possible_!"

"Search your feelings Shahra. You know this to be true!"

"No!" shrieked the blood elf, staggering backwards in a daze that stemmed from more than just being brought back into the past. "It's a lie! All of it! You're trying to trick me!"

Shahra wished that Kael would do something than just stand there. Something that preferably involved him attacking her so she could fight back, or even something as simple as shouting so she could match his tone. But such wishes were not meant to be granted, the only shouting coming from the sky in the form of thunder. Prince Sunstrider however, just spoke in sentences. Horrible, irrefutable sentences.

"Shahra, I think it's time to face up to what I think you already knew," said the blood elf gently. "Did you not wonder why Tartarus claimed you had similar blood to him, or Magtheridon found you familiar? Like the fel orc stemming from the pit lord, you are little more than a creation, albiet for reasons beyond that of simple bloodshed."

"No..." the former high elf whispered, having stopped staggering only to stand there, clenching her fists so tightly that it hurt. "You're wrong. I have...have..."

"Memories?" Kael sneered. "Nothing but false flashbacks to build a back-story to show just how lowly those on Azeroth perceive you, triggered when appropriate. Didn't you think it odd how you could remember these events so clearly yet couldn't remember simple things like your sedate life or even your family? Didn't you wonder why the scar you supposedly recieved at Nethergarde was healed? Didn't you wonder why you'd never heard of the naga, not suspecting it was a mistake on my part? Do you really think that _anyone _travels to Outland just for curiosity? All you have is the memory of others, altered so that you were there instead of them. In the end Shahra, you were more a blood elf even when under the delusion of being a quel'dorei. You have no past, no future and even if you did, neither of them would truly be yours. All that's left for you to do is exist in the moment and take whatever you can from the one year you have to live."

Shahra blinked, and not only from the drops of rain that were landing near her eyes, a chill spreading down her spine for reasons beyond that of the lowered temperatures. "What...what do you mean?" she whispered. "Why...why a year?"

Kael sighed, appearing to be genuinely sorry. "The blood in your veins, not so different from Tartarus's," the sin'dorei said gravely, as if quoting the fel orc himself. "The blood of a demon, giving you fel magic required for sustaining you as well as transformation, not to mention the ability to allow me to track you through arcane means. And in the end, the same blood that's killing you."

"What?"

"Unlike the orcs who replaced their spirits with power completely and could subsequently make the change to their original selves, I did not go the full way," said Kael. "There are currently two types of blood in your body. And as any doctor will tell you, that presents a health hazard. While your spouts of rage were akin to the orcs' blood haze, your coughing up coagulated blood is a sign of something biological, specifically that your system is trying to get rid of blood that's become poison to your body. Still, there's nothing for it. Within a year, give or take, Magtheridon's blood will have taken over you and before you succumb to it, you'll end up bleeding through every opening available. Quite an interesting way to die really, though not a fate I'd wish on anyone."

Shahra once again staggered backwards, though unlike before, this was not in denial of truth. Rather, this was from the acceptance of truth. And although she came to believe it, came to understand the last nasty little mysteries surrounding her Outland odyssey, that didn't make the realization a pleasant one. And in realization of this fact, Kael'thas played his trump card.

"So as you can see, there's nothing for it," declared the blood mage. "Even if you do take joy from a life of denial and misery, you'll hardly live long enough to make such efforts worthwhile. In the end, all you can do is come with me. You're dead anyway, but I can make your last days-..."

"No."

Kael blinked. "What?"

"I said no," repeated Shahra firmly, fully embracing the only real truth the warlock had given her. "As you said, I'm dead anyway, right? So even if you can manipulate me in life Kael, you can't dictate the manner of death. You can play your games all you want, but it'll take more than that to bring your supposed lost sheep to your side."

For someone who'd wasted the last few weeks on a lost cause, not to mention the men and material associated with it, Kael seemed surprisingly calm. And even as the heavens opened, as Outland defied meteorology and deposited water upon Hellfire Peninsula, he just stood there. Accepting what he now knew to be true. And in the context of that knowledge, his actions didn't surprise his prodigal daughter.

"This is your final decision I take it?" the blood elf asked eventually.

Shahra nodded, not so much in resolve but in fatalism. "Yes. It is."

"Very well then. Here's the manner of your departure."

Shahra closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable to come. Not without fear, but content in the knowledge that whatever Kael did to her, it would be far more preferable to the manner of death that awaited her, in all its agonizing slowness. But then again, the prince was taking his time as well. And opening her eyes, peering through the rain, Shahra saw why.

"A mana drain," said Kael'thas simply, blue energy crackling from an outstretched palm. "You may have turned out to be a complete and utter failure but given the fel magic within you...well, waste not, want not."

Shahra tried to speak, but couldn't, let alone move to prove that actions spoke louder than words. Because as she sunk to her knees, succumbing to the magic extracting her own, she could do neither. All she could do was wait for the end...however far it may be.

"Given how Magtheridon's blood sustains you, this drain will eventually kill you rather than simply removing an individual's mana," said Kael simply. "So, Shahra Dreamsinger, if you have any second thoughts, if you want to save the quel'dorei, all you have to do is say two words. I think you know what they are."

Shahra knew what those words were and she'd be damned if she'd utter them. Still, completely immobilized as she was, she appeared to be damned anyway. The only movement she could make was with her hands, and that was hard enough as it was.

"Well Shahra? What say you?"

_Screw...you..._the blood elf thought, bringing her right hand to the medallion around her neck in a vague attempt to gain some solace. _Words...are..._

Well, whatever words were, they were certainly not meaningless. Because as her hand closed around the golden object, A'dal's words came back in an instant.

"_Good and evil may exist, but not in distinction on their own. Without Light, the void cannot exist and vice versa, yet this relationship must be understood first. We decide what's good and what's evil based on our own choices. And if I may say so Shahra, you have often made the right ones."_

Shahra would have snorted if she had the energy. Good and evil? Well, despite what he was doing, Kael wasn't evil. Not in her mind. It was just bad luck that differences in belief were what was going to kill her. Funny how ideology really counted for nothing at times. So much for making the right choices. Choices that involved fingering medallions when it would be far more appropriate to reach for her sword. The sword that...that...

"_Indeed. The sword is but part of the steel that may topple Hellfire, but even so, it is a fine weapon both in form and function. The medallion on the other hand, is for you alone, yet is not to be used in the same manner as the blade. In a sense, it is not to be _used _at all. Rather, its worth will become apparent when you live E'tara's words."_

Kael was saying something, but his voice was drowned out by A'dal's repeated words. Words that made no more sense now than they did when he spoke them. Well, no matter.

_This is it then, _Shahra thought, finding it even hard to think by this point. _Maybe I'll die a bastard child. Maybe I'll die...oh, what the hell does it matter? In the end...I'm still me I guess. Whatever that means. High elf, blood elf...but at least I know who I am..._

Shahra did know. No-one significant, no hero who would change the world, but a simple individual. One with unique origins perhaps, not to mention false memories, but one who could take solace in what she'd done in life. She could at least take comfort in that.

"_Your identity is what you make for yourself."_

The blood elf blinked. Those weren't A'dal's words. Those were...E'tara's...She'd just gone over them. Had _lived _the words. Had made an identity. And as A'dal promised, as what was _truly _the last question, one that she now relished in the personality that the naaru had praised, Shahra asked what he meant.

The answer was given.

Shahra didn't know what was happening at first, so close to death as she was. But as consciousness returned, as her eyes gazed upon the world with clarity, she had an idea. Kael's magic, whether it be a mana drain or flamestrike, had become useless against her. Magical bubbles stemming from medallions that unexpectedly opened and closed tended to do that.

"What...what's happening?" the prince stuttered, staggering backwards in a clear case of déjà vu.

_Funny. So that's what I look like when I refused to face the truth._

The truth...a vague notions in some respects, a concrete notion in others. And right now, regaining her strength, her blade glowing with a faint golden light reminiscent of A'dal's glory, Shahra could see the truth that she was back on her feet.

"Impossible..." Kael murmured. "That's impossible..."

"Search your feelings my prince, you know it to be true," the former high elf murmured. Or maybe not former after all, glancing in the stream bellow from the rain, clear despite the rock it ran over. And what was shown was also crystal clear...her eyes. No glow of acid green, but rather that of sky blue. The fastest rehab in the world had been carried out and as her shining eyes met Kael's darkening ones, Shahra Dreamsinger had what she needed to show for it.

"Quel'dorei..." she murmured, talking to herself as much as she was the blood mage. "I'm a high elf again."

Somehow, that didn't matter as much to her as she thought it would. Because when it came down to it, such differences were really academic. Perhaps one couldn't always choose what they were, but even in the divide between quel'dorei and sin'dorei, such an elf could still choose _who _they were. After weeks of battle and admittedly prejudice, Shahra now understood that. She had become _who _she wanted to be, not what. And _who _she was could have been either race. Leo's eight words..."I've never seen someone with such clear eyes." A reference to her past self perhaps, or was he referring to her as he saw her? In the end, it didn't matter. The strength of their friendship was as clear as what he saw, regardless of the source.

_Still. At least being a high elf is freaking Kael out._

Certainly the prince looked surprised. But that quickly faded, just like the bubble around Shahra had. In that instant, both of them knew what would follow. And in slightly more time than an instant, with Kael drawing Felo'melorn, the _Flamestrike_, he'd obviously decided how to deal with the truth first.

Bringing her sword to meet his, Shahra Dreamsinger resolved to deal with it as well.

* * *

_A/N_

_Probably one of the most challanging chapters for this story, given how it's the point where I have to scour everything I'd written so far and make sure I'd covered it. While a vague idea of Shahra's origins took form in the initial brainwave I had back in 2007, this was in the days where my drafting system wasn't as refined as it is now. Still, at least I had some _Star Wars _and _Metal Gear _references in this chapter to help me through it. ;)_


	26. Storm, Earth and Fire

**Denial**

**Chapter 26: Storm, Earth and Fire**

It's a funny thing about first impressions. They're often wrong.

For Kael'thas Sunstrider, currently soaked from head to toe due to an abnormal meteorological pattern, this was one of those times of coming to terms with what was true rather than what seemed to be. True, there were times where his first impressions were dead on-Arthas had seemed like a prat in Dalaran and the Third War had demonstrated what being a prat could lead to. Still, Shahra Dreamsinger had been true to form over the last few minutes. True in the sense that his first impressions were wrong and he was both grateful and frustrated for it.

_Well, you know what they say, _thought the sin'dorei prince. _Life is full of surprises._

It was also said that life was like a box of chocolates and you never knew what to expect, but that saying seemed kind of pointless, especially given how rare chocolate was in Outland. But indeed, life, specifically the life of a poor deluded girl had surprised him. Surprised him in the sense of making it all the way to Hellfire without realizing the bloody obvious and upon coming to terms with the oh-so precious truth she rattled on about, had refused to accept it. His...experiment, as was common in science, had defied the hypothesis and the results were clear to show. So now, blade meeting blade, all that remained was to entertain her discussion and reach the experiment's conclusion.

_Which, at this rate, shouldn't be too long._

When he'd teleported her to the meeting stone, Kael had commented on Shahra's footwork, deducing that it would lead to her undoing in any duel. And in another case of a first impression being right, that was not only correct, but an understatement. Casually sidestepping a swift, albiet clumsy swing from her blade, Kael gave her a light tap on the shoulder with his own. Felo'melorn was meant for better things, but as it would be shameful to enter the diagram phase of this experiment, the blood elf had decided to give the discussion some depth.

"Slipping, slipping," the prince mused, parrying the high elf's thrust and jumping back from a subsequent cleave. "You'll never get anywhere wielding your blade like that."

Shahra remained silent, the only response, if one at all, being the roll of thunder. Kael smiled grimly-it was so anticlimactic really. Here he was, having faced a high elf that'd been rendered immune to his spells by blasted naaru magic in the midst of the heavens doing battle, yet she couldn't even provide a decent fight.

"There's still time you know," said Kael simply, performing a basic set of attacks that he'd been taught centuries ago, yet still caught Shahra off guard. "You've been given a second chance Shahra. And regardless of the source, I'd advise you not to waste it.

"Go...to...hell..." the quel'dorei wheezed, parrying each of the blows with more effort than would generally be required.

"That, I may in time," shrugged the blood mage. "Still, since you'll be entering the hereafter before long before me, I've got a lot of time to think. Think of how so many lives will be wasted due to you demonstrating how your kind is a lost cause."

"Keep talking Kael," snarled the girl. "I'll bring selama ashal'anore (_"Justice for our people"_). And you'll mark its beginning."

A chill ran down Kael's spine...howling winds tended to do that. The girl's words however, were lost to it. And while she nearly caught him off guard with a thrust to his neck, a simple parry and subsequent pressing of the blade back to her proved that while magic remained his forte, his swordplay was still a force to be reckoned with.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Kael whispered, running a finger down the runeblade while keeping it locked with Shahra's. "Reforged after it was shattered by Arthas when in battle with my father Anesterian, embowed with magic, hatred and revenge. Made strong enough even to withstand Frostmourne on the slopes of Icecrown. So tell me Shahra, what do you think _your _blade is going to do?"

The high elf didn't answer, though the uncertainty in her now blue eyes was clear to see. All in all, Kael couldn't blame her. Apart from providing a pretty golden glow, apparently rendering the blade immune to the Flamestrike, there didn't seem to be anything special about it. Certainly nothing up to par with a runeblade dating back to even before the War of the Ancients. And even if it did, what of it? What would manipulators and Light-followers like the naaru understand of his people? What place did the Light have here? As far as the sin'dorei prince was concerned, none whatsoever. And that, more than anything else, got his blood boiling.

"Time to end this," said the prince simply, drawing back to give a knight's salute before pressing his attack, resolved to give his foe her due, no matter how helpless. "Prepare yourself."

Thrusting forward only to be parried at the last moment, Kael reflected on the irony of the situation. He and Shahra differed on many issues, clinging to different truths. But right now, there was but one truth-he had already won this fight and there was nothing she could do to change that.

Given the look of despair in the girl's eyes, she clearly realized this as well.

* * *

Some people gave up in the face of adversity. Some people succumbed to despair, to doubt, to sorrow. Some people...well, people did a lot of things. But Ardelan, a Vindicator of the Hand of Argus, was not "some people." He was a _person_. And while "people" tended to follow the herd, an individual was rational and smart. So while fel orc after fel orc came at him, while the chances of finding Shahra alive diminished by the second, he kept at it. Kept at it for her sake, for Leo's legacy and his own sense of decency.

"Filthy blueskin! Just wait until I-..."

Shutting the brute up by shattering its jaw, Ardelan couldn't help but reflect on the slight irony in the situation. Even those who despised these monsters as much as he did would probably be reluctant to call this work "decent," even if it was for the cause of freeing Outland from demonic oppression. But what had to be done had to be done. And as per his faith in the Light, the Vindicator was all too willing to do it.

_And what of Shahra? _the draenei wondered, rolling aside from a fireball cast by a warlock and sending him back to the Twisting Nether before he could cast another. _Are you compelled to rescue her? Or is there more to it than that?_

Parrying a blow from a Grunt and sending him sprawling with a blow of his own, Ardelan knew that the answer to that question was neither. He was doing what friendship and honour dictated, though not in the sense of being compelled. It was what Leo had wanted before his death and in the knowledge that the allied forces had done what they set out to do, the draenei was free to follow his own path. And if that meant chasing after a wayward blood elf who might not even be alive, so be it.

Life was so simple at times.

* * *

Sometimes the truth was wonderful. Sometimes the truth was painful. And sometimes the truth was just outright brutal.

For Shahra Dreamsinger, currently fighting for her life against an elf who could take it at a whim, the truth neatly fit into the last two options. The truth was that pain coursed through her body, courtesy of muscles that felt like they were on fire and from the numerous minor wounds that Kael'thas had inflicted, any of which he could have chosen to make fatal. And stemming from these truths, the conclusion was brutal-she was going to die one way or another and there was nothing she could do to change that.

"Shahra, you don't have to do this you know..." murmured the sin'dorei prince, sidestepping one of her clumsy blows. "There's still time to-..."

"Go...to...hell..." the high elf wheezed, swinging her sword in conjunction with each word and missing every time.

"Forgive me if I do not say that is sinu a'manore (_"well met"_).

Shahra couldn't bring herself to answer, though in the moments of reflection that came with death, she did take some time to ponder why her fight had been won before she'd lost it. Certainly Leo and Ardelan had always been the warriors of their trio, but hadn't she surprised herself in Fort Elron and the area around it, suddenly regaining abilities that she thought she had lost? Not that she'd ever had them to begin with, considering the false past Kael had dredged up for her, but still...

_Maybe I can do it again, Maybe there's still hope for-..._

"Shahra, don't kid yourself," said a seemingly disappointed blood mage, as if reading her mind. "This isn't Fort Elron. You don't have the power of Magtheridon's blood in you, only the blood itself. You're back to your level you were in Tempest Keep and you can't change that in a few weeks, let alone a few minutes.

That was it. The truth again. For all his manipulation, for all the lies he'd granted her, Kael'thas Sunstrider spoke facts. Simple, horrible facts. And right now, any delusions the high elf had that she could evade what was coming went out the window. Because it was a fact that Kael outclassed her in strength and stamina, not to mention the centuries of experience he had under his belt. So if he gave her a few minutes at the most to evade judgement, possibly to change her allegiance at the very last second, the quel'dorei saw no logical reason to indulge in the fantasy that she could lengthen that time period.

_So why do it? _she wondered. _Why keep fighting?_

The heavens were doing battle, thunder's sound parrying lightning's light, but that was a sign of nature, not one of some great, final battle with the world at stake like the old stories she...well, the stories that she was only vaguely aware of right now. Martyrdom was an impossibility as well. In the end, the high elf supposed that she was only fighting because she knew she was dead anyway. If she could find some reason to live the last year of her life, maybe she'd try and survive, but even for a race whose lifespan didn't measure in centuries, a single year wasn't all that long a time. Even for humans, one of whom she'd come to regard as a close friend and was now lying dead because of her.

It was arguably over Leo that Shahra gave up there and then. So when Kael gave a casual thrust forward, she did nothing to stop it. Felo'melorn plunged into her chest, steel rupturing frail flesh. Just like a certain friend really...

"This shouldn't have happened," said Kael sadly, his gaze lingering from his runeblade to its victim. "But you should have succumbed to this sort of thing long ago, Shahra Dreamsinger. In the end, you would have to taste true death eventually." He let out a sorrowful sigh, the rain running over both the blade and wound as if to cleanse the blood that was beginning to spill out. "Band'or shorel'aran (_"Prepare to say farewell."_)

Shahra didn't say anything. And with the blade pulled out from her body in a quick withdrawal, her body falling to the hard ground instantly, her blood mixing in with the rain, she knew she wouldn't say anything again.

_How...how long do...I have? _The high elf wondered, still able to think despite the loss of feeling to her lower body and the throbbing pain in her upper half. _How...much...time?_

She didn't know. But looking up at Kael, able to still see him despite the rain clouding her vision, she guessed not long. Long enough for him to at least wait for her to die.

Was this how Leo felt, knowing that he had so little time to say farewell? Shahra didn't know. She had nothing to say to her killer, as he had nothing to say to her. They'd both reached an understanding, both knew that this was the only outcome. A'dal had given her a second chance on life, but even at the end of all things, the high elf didn't expect miracles. So when a figure dropped down from the heavens beside the two combatants, she didn't even care. Nothing was going to change...for her at least.

"My lord Illidan?" she heard Kael exclaim, the sin'dorei recoiling from the...thing that had just landed. "What are you-..."

"Silence."

Silence...it was indeed what was surrounding them, or Shahra at least. Even the roar of thunder and crash of lighting was distant. Like a tunnel, only with no light at the end of it. Indeed, if the quel'dorei _was _looking through a tunnel, the only thing she could see was some kind of night elf/demon hybrid, towering above his fair-skinned counterparts by over a foot, his outstretched wings making him seem even taller.

"Hmph," snorted Kael's superior, dismissing the high elf without a second thought. "A wide abnormality...but the nucleus is pitiful."

Shahra had no idea what he was talking about. Right now, struggling to breathe, she didn't care. All she really cared about right now was her chest's ever slowing movements and the pool of blood she was currently lying in. Still, watching Illidan approach Kael, it was apparent that neither of them cared for her either.

"Kael, your taste in companions grows ever more inexplicable," snarled the night elf, green light blazing from his eyes despite the bandage that surrounded them, as if the fire of the Twisting Nether itself. "You risked everything for the sake of this...this-..."

"Milord, if I may-..."

"Save it, young prince. Hyperion tried syncopathy and got nowhere."

Kael immediately shut up there and then. It was clear to Shahra, however vague her senses had become, that the blood elf both feared and hated his master. As for the master himself...well, how much he thought of his servant was most telling.

"Prince Sunstrider, if you're even worthy of such a title, make no mistake. You're treading on dangerous ground. I've salvaged the Blood Furnace, aided Keli'dan, saved Kargath from your mistakes and flown from Shadowmoon Valley to do these things. You may be my right hand and the harbinger of my wrath, but do not think for a moment that I cannot replace you."

"Milord, if I may," murmured Kael. "My actions were for a good cause. There are many quel'dorei who still-..."

"Your people either serve me or they don't," Illidan interrupted. "And if they don't, they are potential enemies at best and lethal foes at worst. Whatever lingering sympathies you have are lost on me, young prince. Do not waste my time by wasting yours."

Even through the rain and her fading vision, Shahra could see what Kael could-whatever common ground he and Illidan had once possessed had collapsed long ago. His master regarded both himself and his people and tools, nothing more, nothing less. And for the ruler of all sin'dorei, being second to such a being did not sit so well with the incumbent ruler of the Sunstrider Dynasty.

Kael said something else, but Shahra couldn't hear him. The only roaring was that in her ears, as if alerting her to the fact that her time had now come. Like Leo, her end was near. Unlike Leo however, with Illidan flying off and Kael'thas teleporting, she would die alone. Unsung. Unmourned. Unremembered.

_And...that doesn't matter, _she told herself. _No past, no future...and even the present must end._

A life well lived was one without regrets. And as short and outright twisted as her life had been, Shahra didn't feel any regret. She'd been true to herself and true to others. She could live, and die with that knowledge.

Another sound entered the roaring. Someone was calling her name, was running towards her. But whatever this individual intended to do, it was too little too late. The darkness had come and could not be denied.

Closing her eyes and letting out a last, lingering breath, Shahra Dreamsinger let it take her.

* * *

_A/N_

_Long wait, I know, and all for a chapter that I didn't really feel comfortable writing at the time and not comfortable reading either. Thing about Kael is, we know that he meets his end in the events of _Fury of the Sunwell_, not to mention that such an end, in my mind, would warrant something more than an OC striking him down. _


	27. Epilogue: The Long Road

**Denial**

**Epilogue: The Long Road**

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Yet despite having many more miles to tread before reaching journey's end, the draenei has come to a stop.

He kneels by the gravestone, marked alongside others outside Honour Hold. Few of them are proper graves-the soil of Hellfire Peninsula is too hard and rocky to dig deeply and besides, the bodies of the fallen are not always available. And even if they were, what then? Bury them alongside all the other victims who fell in this wasteland? Cast them alongside the bones of draenei and other victims, a testament to this world's bloody history? No. One remembers such history. That does not mean they honour it.

But the victim is honoured. Vindicator Ardelan has seen to that.

There was no real funeral-why mourn one victim over others? Many have died, many more will die and putting the journey of those on the side of justice on hold will do no good. Still, Ardelan has done what he can. A small memorial, and fitting of his friend. Perhaps others will visit here. Perhaps not. But that matters little. His friend lived and died and he will honour his comrade's memory.

"Ardelan...thank you."

Ardelan hears the voice and hears the footsteps, but gives no indication of doing so. He is glad for the visitor's company and will soon resume his journey with said visitor, but for now, he wants to wait. He wants to remember. He wants to reflect. And feeling his friend's hand on his shoulder, now unarmoured, he is glad that he is being given the time to do so.

"Our friend would have liked this," the Vindicator murmurs, rising to his hoofed feet as he does so. "We both owe him."

"I know," the visitor murmurs. She looks down at the inscription. "Short and sweet. He would have liked that."

Ardelan remains silent. Actions speak louder than words, but the quill is mightier than the sword. And while he has used a pick here, the principle remains the same. Words and wounds are temporary, but writing is everlasting. Even when such words spell out the following...

**Leonard Ragoa**

**Year -13 to Year 31**

**A man of two worlds**

**And mourned by both**

"He won't be forgotten," Ardelan murmurs as one of the fallen's friends approaches, one of the few who could even call him Leonard. "I'll make sure of that."

"And I," affirms the visitor, her voice beginning to crack in grief. "Leonard...I'm glad I could call him that too."

Ardelan simply nods, a tear coming to his eye. He quickly brushes it away though-there's more than enough water in Hellfire's soil right now, even if it will never fully wash away the blood that sullies it. Still, the wounds of mortals heal in time. And turning to face his visitor, bandages wrapped around her lower chest where there was once blood, she stands in living testament to that fact.

"Come on," says the draenei. "We have one last journey to make. Even if Leonard isn't around to guide us."

Her eyes shining with both light and tears, Shahra Dreamsinger simply nods.

* * *

In the personal quarters of Prince Kael'thas Sunstrider, it isn't just the fire that's burning.

Heat touches his skin and warms his tunic, but it brings him no comfort. Heat deals with the physical, not the spiritual. And while physically he's fine apart from a lack of sleep, spiritually he's anything but. Illidan has failed the sin'dorei and their ruler. That which he has long denied, has long hoped again in a manner as delusional as his prodigal daughter, has turned out to be true. And the fire isn't going to let him forget it.

"**I told you didn't I?"** chuckle the flames. **"The Betrayer no longer shares the same goals as yourself. Like the leader of the Ashtongue Deathsworn, you will be cast aside in time. The only difference is that you do not deserve such a fate."**

The blood mage snorts, but takes a seat nonetheless. He's tired...tired of following a cause he no longer believes in, of living in the shadow of a demon hunter who lost all cognitive ability five years ago. Still, as tired as he is, he is not ready to fall asleep. Not yet. Not until he knows what fire can give him.

"You were right," the blood elf murmurs to the flames, the visage they form not coming as a surprise to him. "If I am Illidan's right hand, then he's become left handed. He cares nothing for my goals or for my people. I, we...we're just a means to an end."

"**And that troubles you?"**

"More than you know."

The flames laugh. They tend to do that a lot, but Kael isn't surprised. His namesake had to come from somewhere and given the nature of that namesake, manipulation must come as second nature to him. Indeed, his manipulative nature is what has caused the blood elf prince to weigh his options for the past few months. But no more. Shahra failed him, Illidan failed him and the Sunstrider prince has had enough of that.

"**As you may suspect, I am like Illidan in some regards," **whisper the flames, their crackling filling the room with silent laughter. **"I cannot offer your people compassion. However, unlike the Betrayer who has indeed betrayed both of us as well as his own kind, I can offer them respect, not to mention a place in the new order I will create."**

"And the nature of that order?" Kael asks, still wary of his new master. "What role will be play?"

"**The same role that Illidan had you play. Only this time, I will lead you to glory. The destiny he falsely promised you is within your reach. All that you have to do is reach out and seize it. Become my right hand, the harbinger of my wrath."**

Despite his feelings, the blood mage smiles. The very words that Illidan used to delude him upon his rescue from Maiev Shadowsong and now this demon is repeating them, no doubt intentionally. After all, he is not called "the Deceiver" for nothing. And what of those who came before him, such as Gul'dan and Ner'zhul? Is this how it began with them? Lured in by promises that would be broken?

_Perhaps, _Kael tells himself. _But unlike them, I have already been betrayed. So what do I have to lose?_

Part of his mind, that nagging, unwanted part, tells him that he has a lot. Not just for himself, but for all his people. Still, he manages to ignore it. He is in the flame's rapture and neither element nor emotion will distinguish them. And having realized that, he kneels on the floor, faces the fire and swears his allegiance.

"Very well my lord. The blood elves are at your command. What are your orders?"

Kil'jaden simply grins.

* * *

"Well...here we are."

Shahra remains silent, most of her attention focussed on getting of Ardelan's elekk. It's a difficult task, not only due to the elephant-like creature's size, but due to her own body. Just moving brings her pain and sliding off and landing doesn't do her chest any favours.

"You alright?" the draenei asks, his genuine concern apparent, so unlike when they first met. "I can-..."

"No, I'm fine," answers the high elf through gritted teeth, steadying her breathing as she regains her posture. "You healed me back at the citadel Ardelan. Now I have to let my body take over." Her mouth forms a grin. "And whatever the physicians can give me..."

Shahra can't help but wonder if she's snubbed Ardelan with that comment, climbing up to the Dark Portal with him as she ponders such thoughts. She certainly didn't mean to. After all, he moved heaven and earth to revive her after coming across her body back at Hellfire Citadel and only after expending all his Light-given powers was he able to keep her alive long enough for her to be brought back to Honour Hold for lasting treatment. She owes her life to those surgeons, but Ardelan was the one who saved her in the first place. And she's not likely to forget that.

"So, I suppose this is where we part ways," murmurs the draenei, gesturing to that which lies before them. "The gateway to Azeroth. The land of your birth."

Shahra's gaze averts the portal and not only because of its unnatural nature. She hasn't told Ardelan the truth about her origins, nor that if she had any, she'd only have a year to discover them. While friends should not keep secrets, Ardelan's place is here. His _life _is here. Her life however, is something else...

"Quel'Thalas is off limits for now," the quel'dorei murmurs. "But Azeroth is a large world. I can find somewhere there."

The draenei remains silent, the only sound that of a soft wind, gold and black hair blowing in its breath. Shahra knows he wants her to stay, wants her to fight. But she can't. She isn't a warrior. She isn't a hero. And although Outland is the land of her birth, it isn't her home. If she is to have one, she wants it to be on Azeroth. She wants to see what she has only glimpsed, to discover what her memories showed her for herself. And while her heart is torn as she watches Ardelan walk down the Stair of Destiny, her chest heaving as he takes his elekk along the Path of Glory, she stands firm. This is her decision. And she'll stand by it.

The quel'dorei turns to face the twisting, pulsing gateway that links this world with Azeroth. It is just like it was in her dreams, only the feeling is far more real. Yet for all the unease this brings her, comfort comes from this feeling as well. She knows that this is the real deal, that she, not some other individual is experiencing it. And in the knowledge that there is no much more to experience on the other side, she prepares to follow in the footsteps of the Horde and make the journey.

_Kael...you were wrong, _Shahra thinks to herself, fingering A'dal's medallion with one hand while adjusting her satchel and sword with the other. _I may have no past. I may have no future. I may even only have a year to live. But that does not mean it is not my own. It's my life. And whether it be high elf or blood elf, quel'dorei or sin'dorei, I _will _live it. You can't take that from me. I've found a reason to live, and nothing you or anyone can do will change that._

And with that, not to mention a deep breath, she steps through. She makes the first step.

And as Azeroth looms, a journey of both distance and discovery awaits her.

* * *

_A/N_

_So...after three years, one of which was effectively a hiatus, a story I began back in secondary has been completed during uni. So er...yay?_

_Actually had the "wow moment" when I actually finished writing the epilogue, so posting it is kind of a formality. So I'll spare you a self-absorbed ramble and simply leave it that I'm happy to have finally finished the story and admittedly a bit proud, but I won't shove that in. However, there are two sets of notes I'm inclined to post before bringing the story to a complete close, the first of which is Shahra's survival at the story's end. Reading the reviews for the last chapter, it seemed that different views on her apparent death existed. Indeed, when I was outlining this fic years back, whether to have her alive by the end of the story was _the _hardest decision I had to make. Kind of paraprhasing reviews over the years, but it can be irritating when an author becomes so attatched to his/her characters that they can't kill them off, but also when they do so for the sake of drama._

_The reason I ended up on leaving Shahra alive is twofold. Firstly, I felt that her dying at Kael's hands would turn her into a 'micro-martyr,' the "good" high elf dying a heroic death at the hands of an "evil" blood elf. In the context of the Scryers and Leo's friendship with Gazgul, put in as mechanisms to throw Shahra's prejudices back at her, I felt that Kael killing her would in a sense vindicate those prejudices. In the end, it's down to the individual-who rather than what. A cliche theme, and one that I know has been used countless times before, but one I enjoyed using._

_The second reason, the reason why I didn't change the drafted ending when I actually wrote it, was something I remembered in an interview of J.K. Rowling in regards to why she didn't kill off Harry at the end of _Deathly Hallows_. I forget the exact wording, but the essence of her answer was that dying would have been the easy way out. After adversity and trauma, it's the ability to live after such events that defines you, the meaning of life being found in life itself rather than death. May have warped the answer a bit there, but I felt that living would make a more interesting ending for her in the timeframe she has left rather than taking the simple road of popping a character off. _

_Does that mean I have sequels planned? In a word, no. I do have two other _Warcraft _fics ready to write-_Providence_, which is a take on the Scryers' defection to Shattrath and the creation of the first blood knights and _Reign of Chaos: Exodus of the Horde_, a story that, as its name suggests, is a novelization of the Horde mini-campaign in _Reign of Chaos_. Some characters from this actually appear in them, but I'm reluctant to create stories around characters for the sake of it. I'd rather use them as means rather than an end. Either way, my current writing focus right now is on a _Halo _fic _(Shadows of Hope), _so don't expect to see these for quite awhile..._

_So yeah, big-headed moment over. Many thanks to everyone who reviewed. Hope three years of writing was worth it. :)_

_(So much for sparing you a self-absorbed ramble...)_


End file.
